


Cupid's Needle

by Anonymous



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An addict looking for a fix offers himself up on a platter, but there are some places even Brendan won't go.  That's what he tells himself, at least. Never did he expected his foundations to be shattered and rebuilt so thoroughly by Ste Hay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ayy chokefic!anon here with another slightly fucked up overly long saga, this time with an actual plot featuring drug abusing prostitute Ste and drug dealer Brendan because I like to make myself sad. This is an AU that assumes Brendan and Ste met under different circumstances, so all the ickiness of 2010 Brendan is in full force at the beginning here. Basically, if depictions of addiction, physical and psychological abuse, slurs, and general dickbaggery isn’t your style, you might want to steer clear of this fic.
> 
> I’m a sucker for fluff though so who knows, in three chapters they could be holding hands and braiding flowers into each other’s hair.

_Skulking_ isn't a strong enough word for it. Little fucker is hunched over in the corner of the club, practically a shadow himself. Sallow skin, bony frame, and circles so dark around his eyes that he's almost skeletal. Brendan knows his type alright, he's dealt to enough junkies that he doesn't bat an eyelash.

Brendan’s seen him around before, but never actually _in_ the club.  He can't stay here, though, not in the state he's in. If he's dealing drugs in Cheryl's club, Brendan will break his legs. If he's doing drugs in Cheryl's club, Brendan will kill him.

Speak of the Devil, and she’ll drag you into a hug with an ear-piercing squeal.  “Thank you so much for covering my shift tonight!"

“Yeah, yeah,” he gives her an encouraging pat on the arm, “You go have fun.”

“You know the lockup protocol by now?”

“This isn’t the first club I’ve managed, Chez,” Brendan says, but he’s distracted.  Cheryl notices and casts a glance in the direction Brendan is looking.

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

“You know anything about the little fella over there?” Brendan asks, pointing in Ste’s direction.  Cheryl sighs heavily, and Brendan already knows he's got to do something about this junkie.

“God,” she says, “It breaks my heart to see him like that after everything."

That derails Brendan's train of thought. “You _know_ that bloke?"

“Course I do,” Cheryl says. “That's Ste Hay. Used to be a cook or something, but he disappeared a while ago. Guess we know where he went now, don't we?”

“Yeah, straight to the gutter.”

“ _Brendan_ ,” she chastises, “He's in a bad place.  Cut him some slack.”

“He's going to be in a worst place if I catch him dealing.”

“You don’t think he would?” Cheryl looks shocked, bless her heart.

“I think he’s capable,” Brendan says, trying to put it lightly.  “I’ll go talk to him, don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Brendan,” Cheryl calls after him, “Play nice!”

“I will if he does,” Brendan promises, and strides over to confront this little shadow.

The situation looks worse with each step forward.  Ste is shifting from foot to foot, clearly alone in the club.  That alone is enough to draw attention.  The ratty hoddie and torn up jeans don’t win him many points, either.

“So, Steven,” Brendan says, and the boy looks up at him through the concave darkness of his own eye sockets. Brendan can instantly tell that there's a pretty young lad hiding somewhere under the layers of drug abuse, but it’s buried pretty deep.

“Haven't heard that name in ages,” Ste says, and Brendan is nearly bowled over by the strength of his accent.

“It's yours though, ain't it?”

Ste snorts. “Nah. Names _Ste_ , nobody calls me Steven.”

“Well, I'm not like everyone else, Steven,” Brendan says, pushing his way into Ste's space. “Now you gonna tell me what you're doing in my club?”

“Not your club, though, is it?” he asks, bold and begging for a fight even though it's obvious that Brendan could snap him in two.  “It’s Cheryl’s.”

“It’s my _sister’s_ club, and I don't like people dealing in my sisters club,” Brendan says. Something like recognition flashes across Ste’s face.  He grins up at Brendan, and his teeth are surprisingly probably the least fucked up part about him.

“Unless it's you, _Brendan Brady_ ,” Ste spits the name with more venom than he has a right to as a junkie.

“Gotta put bread on the table, _Steven_ ,” Brendan pitches his voice low to avoid curious ears. “You know how it is, I’m sure.”

The grin falls from Ste's face at once, and he looks grim again. “So you selling, then?”

Brendan huffs out a laugh and considers saying no, telling him to run along just to savor the look of disappointment on Ste’s face.  Let him scrounge up some low-quality shit somewhere else.  But Brendan looks at those desperate eyes and sees the potential for a loyal customer.  He leans in close and whispers _follow me_ right in Ste’s ear before turning on his heel and striding into the office.

Ste does, and he looks even worse in the more substantial lighting of the office.  Brendan takes in his emaciated frame and something hateful churns in his gut.  It’s a special kind of low, ending up like that.  He peels his eyes away from where Ste is fidgeting with something and starts explaining what he has and how much it will cost.  That’s when Ste cuts him off and things start going a little sideways.

“Alright, listen,” Ste starts, and Brendan can already tell he’s not going to like what comes next.  “I don’t exactly have the cash –”

“No deal,” Brendan says, “You’re wasting my time.”

“No, listen, alright,” Ste urges, and Brendan sighs.  “I don’t have the money, right, but I can pay you in other ways.”

Brendan breaks out into a laugh so unnatural that even Ste in his fucked up state looks uncomfortable.  “That’s funny, Steven,” he says, and suddenly grows grave, “But we ain’t exactly got dishes in the back that need washing.  Now you scoot your skinny little arse out of my office and my club before I put you out myself.”

“No, just _listen_ alright, I _need_ –” Ste cuts himself off with a nervous hand drumming across his mouth.  Brendan sits back in his chair, clicking a pen and staring holes into Ste.  “You got coke, right?  All I need is just enough to keep me going until I can contact my regular dealer.  I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Brendan asks, gut churning uncomfortably.  He should have seen this coming.

Ste nods, rounding the desk.  He stops just short of where Brendan is sitting and staring anywhere but at Ste.  “ _Anything_.”

Brendan caves and glances at Ste.  Wrong move.  Ste’s bracing his hands on the corner of the desk, leaning in close enough that Brendan can see the thinly-veiled desperation behind a flimsy mask of seduction.  It’s disgusting, the blatant depravity.  Brendan has had plenty of lowlifes come around here since he arrived, but none of them ever went as far as to sell themselves for a quick fix.

Even worse is what Brendan sees reflected in this boy’s eyes: his own desire.

There are a lot of adjectives to describe Ste, but _hideous_ isn’t among them.  He’s a fucked up junkie with black holes painted over his eyes, but he’s slight and ballsy with eyelashes for miles and lips that don’t belong on a boy, let alone a boy like him.

Brendan thinks he might actually want to fuck him, and that’s the most disgusting thing of all.

He’s on his feet and shoving Ste hard before Ste can do more than yelp.  “You think I’m some kind of queer, huh?” he huffs.  

“N–no, I – ” Ste stammers, but Brendan isn’t hearing it.

“You think I want a coked up whore who can’t even afford to get his fix without bending over for it?” Brendan bristles, grabbing Ste by the shoulders and shoving him hard enough that Ste stumbles and falls.

Ste grunts on contact with the floor and curls in on himself.  “I don’t think it’s you alright,” he babbles, “It’s just that some guys will deal to me if I–”

“Some guys?” Brendan spits.  “Christ, you’ve made a habit of this, haven’t you?”

“I do what I have to, alright,” Ste tries to get up, but Brendan pushes him back down with a foot on his ribs.  Ste looks so much smaller than before, so much more like a child than a man.

“You’re disgusting,” Brendan hisses, pressing down just to hear the whimper it drags out of Ste.  

“You gonna batter me?” Ste asks.  Gone is the junkie bravado from earlier.  Ste is scared, terrified, no longer playing cocky with Brendan.  It feels all wrong, but Brendan knows this is how it has to be.  He’s taken the power back, and now Ste knows not to cross that line again.

“I should,” Brendan says, and removes his foot.  “But my sister just opened this place, and battered junkies make for worse press than normal junkies.  I want you to get out of here and stay out.  Got that, Steven?”

Ste nods as he slowly rises to his feet.  Brendan doesn’t think he’s quite got the message, though, so he grabs him by the front of that filthy hoodie and drags him out of the office and through the club, ignoring the shocked look Cheryl is shooting him.

“Let go of me, you prick!” Ste shouts, stumbling as Brendan manhandles him out the door.

“Catch you later, Steven,” he says, shoving Ste out of the club.  “Or for your sake, I hope not.  I see you around here again, and you’re getting more than a smack, I promise.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Ste shouts, just as Brendan slams the door.

Well, that’s that.

Brendan strides back through a group of people who are still buzzing a bit from watching the show.  They mind their own business soon enough, and Brendan pours himself some whiskey.

The burn of it is just what he needs right now.  

Cheryl doesn’t look too happy with him, though.  “That was a little harsh, don't you think?”

“He's a waste of space, Chez,” Brendan says, straightening his jacket. “We don't need someone like him hanging around here, God know what else he'd drag in with him.”

“Oh, I hear you,” she tuts, “He used to be such a good guy, though, you know?”

“Yeah, well,” Brendan huffs, “People change.”

–

For all his back talking, Ste seems to have taken the hint.  Brendan keeps the club clean of junkies and only attracts clients who have actual cash to drop.  Cheryl stays blissfully unaware, thank God, but Brendan can’t help the niggling fear in the back of his mind that Ste might give him away to her.

Ste has been hanging out in the back of his mind a lot, lately.

Only once does Brendan see him outside the club after that first confrontation.  He’s out on the balcony when he spots Ste just below him, talking to a group of men.  Brendan’s heart leaps to his throat, and he realizes he’s been waiting for Ste to drop by again to try his luck a second time.  It doesn’t look like Ste needs to, though, judging by the way he’s wrapped his arms around a tall bloke with hairy arms and a wad of notes in his hand.

“What are you doing out here?” Brendan calls after them, walking down the steps.  “I told you not to come around anymore.”

“None of your business,” Ste calls back, and he’s actually _grinning_ , that little shit.  “We were just leaving, anyway.”

“Really, Steven?” he deadpans, pointing at the gorilla trying to shove the cash back in his pocket.  He looks like he just got caught with his pants around his ankles. “This is your choice in clientele?”

Ste’s face darkens.  “Just putting bread on the table, innit?  Not like you can judge anyone.”

“Excuse me?” Brendan asks.  “I’m not the fucking poof.”

“Don’t know what you’re missing out on, mate,” the gorilla leers, and Brendan thinks he’s going to be sick.

“He speaks!” Brendan claps.  “Amazing.  Listen, Steven, I don’t make empty threats.  Take your business elsewhere or I’ll make it _my_ business to kick your arse off my sister’s property.”

“Whatever,” Ste scoffs, and turns on his heel without another word.  Brendan lets them walk off and paces back inside the club.  He’s anxious the rest of the night, drumming his fingers on the bar and nearly trashing the office twice.  Seeing Ste with a _john_ should have just affirmed everything that he thought about the scally.  Instead, it tore up his head and left nothing but debris.

There’s one more fear in the back of his mind: He’s afraid that Ste knows something that _nobody_ can know.

It’s ridiculous.  Ste made it clear that he’ll fuck anything that gets him closer to a milligram of coke.  But he wouldn’t be the first skinny little thing to see past the fronts Brendan puts up.  The last thing he needs is another Vinnie.

Brendan knocks back shot after shot of whiskey and shirks off his shift to one of the new barmen, putting him in charge of lockup against his better judgement.  He meanders into his flat where Lynsey is sitting on the couch with the television on and a book in her lap.

Sweet Lynsey, gorgeous Lynsey, _female_ Lynsey.  He considers making a pass at her, just to prove something that’s false, but he doesn’t think he would even be able to.  She deserves better, anyway.

“Does Cheryl know you sacked off work?” she asks without looking up, because she’s too damn smart for her own good.

“What Chez doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Brendan slurs, and Lynsey sighs.

She finally looks up from her book and gives him a sympathetic glance.  “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” he mutters, wandering to the kitchen.

“Get some rest,” she says.  “I’ll cover for you when Cheryl wakes up.”

“Knew I could count on you,” he says, carrying a glass of water and a painkiller for the headache sounding off in his head.  She just gives him a smile and a wink and he knows that he loves her, just not like how he should.

He’s just as fucked up as Ste when he gets down to it.

-

Sleep spends the night hovering just out of reach.  Brendan gropes around for it until the sun is ready to rise, and eventually gives up and starts groping himself instead.  There’s no time sink quite like a rousing round of self-love.

Brendan doesn’t try to fool himself.  There’s a particular pair of lips front and center in his mind.  He knows they’re probably chapped and cracked and servicing some ugly motherfucker as we speak, but let a man dream.

He tries to imagine what Ste would look like if he were healthy.  His hair would be washed and soft in Brendan’s fingers while he takes Brendan’s cock between those plush lips and sucks it like he wants it, like he’s not going to be walking away with a crisp note or a baggy of coke.

Brendan grunts, giving his cock a solid squeeze.  Best not to think about that.

But it’s hard not to.  There’s no changing what Ste is.  Brendan will never get to get his hands on the fabled Ste that Cheryl mourns from all those years ago.  He’ll never get under Ste’s skin when his competition is a needle.  Never get to play cat and mouse with a clueless Ste, never get to draw that boy in and teach him all about his own body, what he likes, where he likes it, how he’ll never like it the way he does with anybody but Brendan–

Out of nowhere, Brendan comes all over his hand, digging his heels into the bed and arching into his hand.  It shakes through him, leaving him breathing raggedly into the silent emptiness of his own bedroom, only the slowly rising sun warming him.

He squeezes his eyes closed, and the image of clean and healthy Ste is gone, replaced by reality.  He see Ste walking away with that nameless john and his stomach burns like fire.  He feels like hammered shit in a way he’s not used to, and he doesn’t know why.

If he sees Ste again, he’s gonna kill him.

-

Of fucking course he sees Ste again.  About a month and a half later, but still.

“What did I tell you about setting foot on my club?” Brendan booms, striding across the first floor of Chez Chez with intent to drag Ste back out.  Nobody else is here right now, so his filter is gone.

“Probably some bullshit about breaking my legs,” Ste says, and Brendan can tell he’s in a fighting mood.

“I told you,” Brendan growls, “I don’t make empty threats.”  
  
Ste squares his shoulders and looks Brendan straight in the eye.  “Then why am I still standing here?”  
  
Motherfucker.

“Alright,” Brendan says, grabbing Ste by the upper arm, “Out.”

“ _No_ ,” Ste locks his knees and roots himself to the floor.  “Hear me out.”

“I’ve heard you out before, Steven,” Brendan hisses right in Ste’s face, “And all I got out of it was a syphilis scare and jack shit in the way of cash.”

“Very funny,” Ste sneers, and Brendan sighs.

“You gonna tell me why you’re in my club, or should I just toss your sorry arse out now?”

“I know you got good shit,” Ste says bluntly.  “And I want it.”

“Let me lend you some words of wisdom, Steven,” Brendan lets go of Ste’s arm, but forces his way farther into Ste’s personal space.  “People without money don’t _deserve_ the good shit, because they can’t _afford_ the good shit.”

“Yeah, well I hear from Cheryl that you’re short staffed.”

Brendan blinks.  “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Ste says, “Let me work for it.  Like, behind the bar or something.  Not, you know – ”

“Yes, Steven,” Brendan closes his eyes, “I know.”

“So, what do you say,” Ste shrugs.  “Decent idea, innit?”

“Why would I even consider hiring you?” Brendan asks.  “I don’t know anything about your previous work experience, your people skills haven’t exactly been stunning, who _knows_ if you can even work the bar, and, oh yeah, you’re a _fucking junkie_.”

“Brendan, please, just give me a chance,” Ste says.  “You know how I make my money?”

“I know alright,” Brendan snaps, “You fuck brainless old men who can’t get any without paying for it.”

“Yeah,” Ste says, no shame whatsoever.  “And I steal shit, right, because nobody will hire a _fucking junkie_.”

Brendan barks out a bitter laugh.  “There’s a reason for that, Steven – ”

“I’ll go to the police,” Ste blurts out, and Brendan stops in his tracks.

“Excuse me?”

“If you don’t give me a job,” Ste says, eyes blazing,  “I’ll go to the police.  Or send them an anonymous tip, something like that.  Wouldn’t do to have coppers sniffing around you, would it?  Bet you don’t have the cleanest record.  They’d find all sorts.  And your Cheryl, she wouldn’t be please, would she?”

Brendan snaps, grabbing a sharp handful of Ste’s hair and yanking his head back.  “You do that and I’ll kill you, boy.”

Ste grins, and Brendan thinks that the drugs have permanently ruined his brain.  “Yeah, that’s a great way to keep the cops off you, eh?”

Brendan releases his grip on Ste’s hair, watching as Ste winces and rubs the back of his head but doesn’t back off.  There’s an idea brewing dangerously in Brendan’s own head.  He has someone so desperate for whatever Brendan will give him that he’s literally ready to get on his knees.

“Fine,” Brendan says, straightening Ste’s hoodie.  “But I’m not going to give you any wages.”

Ste looks dumbfounded.  “Then what’s the point?”

“The point, Steven, is that you will get your precious fix instead of a steady income, and I’ll get a loyal barman.”

Ste looks hesitant.  “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Steven, do you want your shit or not?” Brendan snaps.  “Besides, if I payed you it would just come straight back to me, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe you can pay me some small wages, too,” Ste suggests.

“Maybe,” Brendan growls, leaning right into Ste’s face, “If you’re a _really good_ barman.”

Ste shifts uncomfortably.  “When can I start?”

“Tonight,” Brendan says, cocking his head to the side.  “That is, unless you’ve got some bending over to do in car parks all night.”

Ste’s face shifts like he’s going to lash out, but all he says is, “Tonight it is, then.”

“Good lad,” Brendan says, clapping Ste on the shoulder harder than necessary.  “Stop by and talk to Chez tonight, she’ll dig out a uniform top for you.”

Ste nods, and makes for the exit.  Brendan grabs him by the arm again, this time yanking him in close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Oh, and,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of Ste’s ear, “Lets keep this little arrangement between us blokes, yeah?  Cheryl doesn’t need to know.”

Ste turns his head to look at Brendan.  There’s a waver in his expression that looks an awful lot like poorly concealed fear.  When he speaks, though, his voice is steady: “She won’t know.”

“Good,” Brendan says, and shoves Ste away before heading straight upstairs without a glance behind him.  He’ll be able to keep Ste on a short leash like this, but his gut tightens at the prospect of spending any significant amount of time around him.

Though Brendan can’t tell if it’s because Ste’s such a lowlife, or if it’s because Brendan still wants to fuck his brains out.  Either way, this is going to be a bumpy ride.

-

Surprisingly, things go relatively smoothly for a while.  Cheryl is delighted when Ste shows up at the club only a little visibly fucked up.  She drags him into a hug that has Brendan hating him more than before somehow.  Ste looks so _tiny_ in her arms.

“It’s wonderful that you’re giving him this chance,” she says to Brendan after they’ve locked up and gone home.  “I know how you feel about him and all.  It’s nice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Brendan sighs.  “You know me, always the altruist.”

“I’m just saying,” Cheryl huffs.  “There was no reason for you to trust him, but you did.  I'm grateful, is all.”

“Lets just hope he doesn’t rob us blind.”

“Give him more credit,” she says.  “Ste is a good kid when you get down to it.”

Brendan might be a bastard, but not enough of one to tell Cheryl what Ste is really like.  So instead he dismisses himself from the kitchen and climbs the stairs to his bedroom where he slips out of his clothes and wastes an entire shower’s worth of hot water jerking off to the thought of coming all over Ste’s black uniform shirt.

Though he might not be willing to accept it yet, Brendan Brady really is _fucked_.

He tries to compensate by treating Ste like garbage when they’re working.  Ste shows up most nights relatively clean, but Brendan lays into him hard for the smallest things.  He has Rhys terrified when he makes a scene of berating Ste after a bottle shatters when it slips from his jittery hands.

Ste takes the verbal lashing silently with hunched shoulders and a clamped jaw.  When Brendan’s voice starts to falter, he grabs Ste and drags him into the office, leaving the gawking onlookers on the other side of the closed door.

“Here,” Brendan says, rooting around in his safe.  “Your wages.”

He shoves the package into Ste’s arms and rounds his desk to fall into his chair, fingers drumming restlessly on the arms.

“Okay,” Ste starts, turning the package over in his hands, “Can I stash this somewhere till my shift is over?”

“No need,” Brendan says.  “You’re going home right now.”

Ste’s eyes widen.  “You’re sacking me over a busted bottle?”

“ _No_ , Steven,” Brendan sighs, “I’m just sending you home.  You’re fucked up, you can’t work the bar like this.  Now get out.”

Ste shifts from foot to foot, lingering awkwardly by the door.  “Well, thanks then – ”

“Out!” Brendan barks, and Ste shoves the package in his hoodie and flees without another word.

This is the start of their system.  Ste works every night unless he’s too strung out to make it in, and Brendan rewards him with drugs when he thinks Ste has earned it.  There’s nothing even close to a wage system, and sometimes Brendan holds out on Ste just to watch him squirm.  It’s such a rush of power, being so in control of someone else’s concept happiness.  Brendan thrives off of the looks Ste casts him, the desperate pleading sitting just under the bold facade.

This continues for weeks.  It’s long enough for it to almost feel like they have some kind of casual routine with each other.  Being around Ste still makes Brendan’s skin crawl, but at least Ste never tries to make a friendship of it.  More importantly, Ste never makes another pass at Brendan.

Brendan is ready for it, whenever it might come.  He knows that Ste still goes out on the pull, finding desperate men to use him for pocket change and probably drugs, too.  There are marks sometimes, blotchy red bruises on Ste’s neck and ugly looking things decorating Ste’s arms.

Every time he sees them, Brendan sinks into a foul mood.  Shot glasses are a common casualty when Ste comes in looking like he just spent all day getting fucked.  Cheryl makes an uneasy joke about putting an bin dedicated to broken glass in his office.  She won’t let Brendan put a hand on Ste, though, no matter how much he wants to give him a smack for coming to work like that.

On some level, Brendan feels like Ste is _his_ to push around, and ain’t that just _fucked_?

-

Closing time couldn’t have come sooner tonight.  Brendan has been tightly wound all day, and he still has to review the inventory books before he goes home or he’ll never finish it and they'll wind up short-stocked within a week.  It’s closing in on half past four when he sits down in the presumably empty club to pour over the books.

A knock resounds through the office, and Brendan grunts out, “Come in.”

He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s Ste.  Those two only have to be in a room together for the tension to be palpable.  He just wants to know why Ste hasn’t gone home already.

“Brendan,” Ste says, voice small, and Brendan glances up at him.  Some days Ste pulls together enough to look almost healthy.  Today isn’t one of those days.  His eyes are rimmed red and he can’t stop wringing his hands like he wants to peel off the skin.  When he speaks, he sounds like a child, “Please?”

Brendan tosses the pen down on the desk and leans back in his chair.  “Please, what?”

“You know,” Ste says, mustering the strength to look angry.  Brendan laughs, he _loves_ it when Ste gets fiery.

“So, Steven,” he says, putting his feet up on the desk, “You think you deserve it?”

“I _need_ it,” Ste says.  “Come on, Bren, _please_.”

 _Bren_.

Brendan doesn’t remember when Ste started calling him that, but his stomach flips every time he hears it.  “Fine.”

He stands up and walks over to the safe, and Ste visibly relaxes.  “I didn’t get much last time, did I?”

“That’s because I didn’t have much to give,” Brendan says, rooting around in the safe for Ste’s share.  “Just recently got ahold of more, here.”

He extends his arm to Ste, but Ste doesn’t take it.

“You haven’t snorted your brains out entirely yet, have you?” Brendan asks, waving the package around.  “Take the damn thing before I decide you're not getting any.”

Ste reaches out and snatches it.  “All I’m saying is that it’s not enough to keep me going, right.  I think you should give me more.”

Brendan levels Ste with a flat look.  “That right?”

“Yeah,” Ste says.

An unkind laugh bubbles up in Brendan’s chest.  “You don’t work nearly hard enough to deserve more.  See you, Steven.”

Brendan is about to walk back to his desk when Ste says, “There are other things I’m good at, you know.”

Brendan tenses and doesn’t even bother to play dumb.  “You’re already working for it behind the bar.”

“Yeah,” Ste scoffs, “All hours of the day.  This is slave labor, innit?”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you begged me for a job,” Brendan says.

“I weren’t begging for a job, though,” Ste points out.  “I just wanted to get ahold of some coke, yeah, and I did.  But it’s easier getting it on my back.”

“Maybe I don’t want to make things easy for you, Steven,” Brendan’s voice is sharp.  He wants Ste to back off before things get messy, but that doesn't work out.

Ste just grins all lopsided and dirty.  It looks all wrong beneath his empty eyes.  “Then work me hard.”

Brendan shoves Ste back with enough force that he crashes into a filing cabinet and knocks some of the clutter from the top onto to the ground.  He's _livid_.  “You think this is funny?”

“What?” Ste gasps, breathing hard.  “No!  I’m good at it is all I’m saying, good enough to earn a little extra, I think.”

“I told you already,” Brendan grits out, “I am _not_ a _queer_.”

“That don’t matter, alright!” Ste says.  “A hole’s a hole, innit – ”

“Is that what those sick bastards tell you before they use you every night?”

“Oh, like _you_ can say owt,” Ste says, and he’s angry now.  “You’re a dealer, same as them.”  
  
“I’m _nothing_ like them,” Brendan spits, “Cause I ain’t a faggot.”

“You know what, Brendan?  I think you are.”

Ste is gasping on the ground with an arm curled protectively over his stomach in seconds.  They both know that’s going to bruise as Brendan paces the length of the office, shaking the tension out of his hand and trying not to vomit.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Steven,” Brendan’s breathing is ragged like _he’s_ the one who just got a fist to the stomach.

Ste says nothing, but Brendan can hear him sniffling quietly in between pained gasps.

“You’re gonna go home now, ain'tcha?” Brendan asks, trying his damnedest to brush this whole thing off.  He hates himself right now, because he’s never felt more like his father.  He looks down at Ste shuddering on the floor and sees himself, pathetic and small and broken.  Brendan is used to that look on Ste, though.  The thing that fucks him up is his own reaction, his flippant attempt at playfulness after battering someone who can’t muster the strength to fight back.

It’s textbook Seamus, and it makes him want to puke.

“ _Ain'tcha_?” he says again, and Ste slowly rises to his feet.  “Good lad.”

“Should I show up tomorrow?” Ste grits out.

“Never said you were out of a job, did I?” Brendan's grin is manic as he approaches Ste.  “Now lets just forget any of this happened, yeah?”

Ste meets Brendan’s eyes for the first time since he’s risen to his feet, and Brendan is floored by what he sees.  Ste’s eyes are still shadowed and red and swimming with tears, but they’re also angry and more alive than Brendan has ever seen them.

It disarms him.  Ste isn’t messing around anymore, and Brendan doesn’t know if he can handle Ste when he’s free and feeling anything but shades of desperation.  So he tosses the package back to Ste and tells him, “Same time tomorrow, Steven.”

Ste takes his leave, slamming the door hard enough that the walls rattle.  Brendan makes a beeline for the whiskey, pouring himself a glass with shaking hands.  He doesn’t see himself reflected back as he swirls his glass, not himself now and not himself as a young boy who nicked sips of daddy’s whiskey when he thought nobody was looking.

He sees Seamus leering up at him.

The glass shatters against the wall before Brendan even considers taking a drink.  There’s going to be a hell of a mess to clean up tomorrow, but Brendan doesn’t have it in him to care.

He leaves without finishing the inventory books, slamming the door harder than Ste ever could.


	2. Chapter 2

Its three days before Ste shows up at Chez Chez again.  Brendan expects him to come around with his tail tucked between his legs, but his head is held high despite the fact that he looks like he’s been run over by a truck.  Thank God that the lighting in here is shit, or Ste would scare the punters away looking the way he does half the time.  It’s a good thing he knows how to smile despite everything.

Not the Brendan has been looking out for his smile.

Ste takes his break outside on the balcony, and Brendan lets curiosity get the better of him.  He waits a minute before following Ste outside to find him resting against the banister, cigarette in hand.  Brendan goes on the defense almost subconsciously as the burn marks on his thighs seem to tighten at the sight of it.

“Those things will kill you,” Brendan says.  Ste laughs, and for the first time it sounds genuine.  Brendan regrets it immediately for two reasons: it sounds like a muffled fog horn, and it makes his chest ache.

“Fancy that,” Ste says, taking a long drag.  “Here I was worried about all the cocaine.”

“Yeah, about that,” Brendan waves some of the smoke away, “You’re probably itching for a fix.”

Ste blows smoke up above his head and watches it get lost in the cool night air.  “Nah.  I think I’m good for now.”

“Trying to get clean?” Brendan asks, barely managing to hide his anxiety at the idea.  Ste just laughs.

“You’re not my only dealer, you know.”

Brendan doesn’t like that.  “I could be.”

“Aww,” Ste says, and he’s flat out _teasing_ Brendan.  “That’s sweet.”

“Don’t go buying us promise rings yet, Steven,” Brendan grumbles.  “I don’t like competition is all.”

“Neither do my other regulars,” Ste says, and Brendan wonders just how many of them there are.  “But you’re the only one who gets free labor for it.”

“Hardly free,” Brendan scoffs.  “You know how pricey that shit is?  You get off easy.”

Ste makes a face that has Brendan terrified that he’s about to make a joke about _getting off_.  Thankfully, he just says, “Wouldn’t kill you to give me actual wages, though.”

“That’s just how the world works, Steven,” Brendan says.  “Anyway, you’re back on in a few minutes, hop to it.”

Ste flicks a few ashes over the banister with a sigh.  “No rest for the wicked, yeah?”

“Especially not someone as wicked as you,” Brendan says.  He means it as a degrading remark, but it comes out, God help him, _flirty_.

Ste doesn’t help matters by shooting him a wink before stubbing out his cigarette and heading back inside without a word.  Alone with nothing but the muffled sounds of the club to keep him company, Brendan lets himself breathe.

In the few months he’s known him, Brendan has always found Ste to be bold and confrontational.  He’d expected to find Ste angry and demanding retribution for being smacked around, especially after he waltzed back into the club with a bruise on his ribs the size of Brendan's fist.   Instead, Ste is compliant and calm as still water.

 _Maybe he’s just high_ , Brendan thinks with a hint of bitterness as he leans back on the banister with his eyes to the sky.  The lights in this place are too bright to see the stars, but he looks anyway.

-

Brendan wakes up the next morning with the alarm clock screaming  and the sun aiming right for his eyes.  Fantastic.  He tosses on a t-shirt and jeans and meanders down the the kitchen where Cheryl is generously pouring him a cup of coffee and Lynsey is just getting home from the graveyard shift.

“Morning,” he mutters to them, and Cheryl gives him a sympathetic shoulder squeeze.

“Long night?” Lynsey asks.  Brendan takes a gulp of coffee and tries not to die on the spot.

“Not really, just couldn’t sleep.  Too much on my mind.”

“I was just telling Lyns here about our Ste,” Cheryl says, and Brendan would have choked on his coffee if he was awake enough to react.  What is she now, a mind reader?

“Really?” he asks, feigning nonchalance.

“I hear he’s missed a few days of work because of a drug problem,” Lynsey says, and she’s not _wrong_.  “I offered to get him some information on rehabilitation.”

“I thought that was a good idea,” Cheryl says sunnily, and Brendan tries not to roll his eyes.

“Don’t waste your breath,” he says.  “Steven won’t get help because he doesn’t want to.  He’s perfectly content being a washed-up junkie.”

“ _Brendan!_ ” Lynsey chastises, “Living with addiction is traumatic, it destroys so many facets of people’s lives.”

“He should have thought about that before he started with the whole cocaine thing.”

“You don’t just decide to become an addict, babe,” Cheryl calls from the kitchen.  “Ste was an absolute sweetheart a year ago, something must have pushed him to it.”

Lynsey turns to Brendan, arms crossed and head nodding.  He hates it when they gang up on him.

“You two can try your luck,” Brendan says.  “But I’m telling you, he’s not going to go along with it.”

“Oh, Brendan,” Lynsey sighs, turning away from him in defeat.  “I’m going to get some rest.  You two can talk this over, he’s _your_ staff member.  Just know I’m here if you need me.”

She trudges upstairs, leaving an oddly ashamed Brendan behind her.  

“I think I’m going to talk to Ste,” Cheryl eventually says.

“Good for you,” Brendan grunts, and ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him that if Ste gets help, he’ll have no reason to come around anymore.

-

Brendan gives way to smugness later on when he overhears Ste and Cheryl talking just before opening time.  They’re setting up the bar, and Brendan can’t help but listen through the open office door.

“Ste, everybody knows you need help,” she says.  “No point in denying it.  We're just worried about you.”

“Well everybody can give it a rest,” Ste shoots back.  “I can’t afford rehab, anyway.”

“Oh, _right_ ,” Cheryl sasses, “But you’ve got _loads_ of drugs money.”

Ste doesn’t say anything for a while.  “Most of my cash goes back to Leah and Lucas, you know that.”

Brendan doesn’t recognize those names.  Probably just people Ste owes money to. But then Cheryl says something that has him sweating:

“You have to make a decent amount in all the hours you pick up here.”

Brendan doesn’t dare to breathe.  He thinks this is it, that Ste is going to give him up.  But all Ste says is, “Yeah, I guess.”

All of the air rushes out of Brendan at once as the fragility of their arrangement dawns on him.  One slip up and he’s exposed.  He tells himself that Ste isn’t worth this, he can pick up much easier clients anywhere.  Thinking of Ste walking out of his life is unacceptable, though.  Brendan likes having a boy trailing along, even if he won’t let himself touch him.  Ste isn’t leaving just yet.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

Ste barges into the office at the end of his shift, announcing that he’s heading home and silently pleading for Brendan to crack open the safe.  Brendan’s not in the mood tonight, though, so he just grunts out a farewell without looking up at Ste.

Moments tick by, and Ste is still standing in the doorway.  It’s the click of the door closing that finally gets Brendan to look up.

“Can I help you?”

Ste looks hesitant.  “Maybe.”

Brendan waits for Ste to go on, urging him with an impatient wave of his hand.

“Alright, I was thinking – ”

“That’s never good.”  
  
“Shut up, I was thinking,” Ste says, “This thing we have going on isn’t right, is it?”

“Steven, you’re a drug addict,” Brendan says bluntly.  “Not much about you _is_ right.”

“I’m just saying, I think you should pay me real wages, alright?”

Brendan stands up and slowly approaches Ste, not stopping until they’re almost nose to nose.  “You think that's _yours_ to decide?”

“I work plenty enough to earn actual wages, Brendan,” Ste argues.

“Yeah,” Brendan says, cocking his head to the side.  “You also come to work strung out after snorting lines and getting fucked.”

“Don’t matter,” Ste says, refusing to back down.  “I do as good as everyone else working here, even on my bad days.”

Brendan laughs in his face.  “You don’t even bother coming in on your bad days.  God knows where you are on those nights, but you ain’t here.”

“Since you don’t pay me, I figure I might as well make _some_ money my way.”

“How’s that?” Brendan mocks, “Lying on your back on a come-stained mattress while people almost as low as you get their rocks off?”

“You know what,” Ste huffs pushing past Brendan.  “Sack this.  I can make more on a street corner than I ever will in here.”

Hearing it come out of Ste’s mouth strikes a nerve in Brendan.  It brings him back to the reality of the situation: Ste isn’t hanging around because of Brendan, he’s only here because Brendan promised him cocaine.  He’s still fucking people on the side for money, still going to other dealers.

“Good luck with that, Steven,” Brendan says, voice low.  “Cause you ain’t getting anything from me anymore.”

Ste freezes.  “You won’t deal to me?”

Brendan shakes his head.  “Uh-uh.”

“Well,” Ste draws in a few level breaths, “I’m glad.  You’re not my only dealer, and I sure as hell don’t need you no more.”

“You’re breaking my heart here, Steven, really,” Brendan pouts.  Ste just scoffs and shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Ohh,” Brendan’s going out of his way to be an asshole now, just to get one more rise out of Ste.  “Anybody would think you _don’t_ spend all your time bending over for bad men.”

“Sod off, Brendan,” Ste spits, getting up in Brendan’s face with raging eyes.  Then he shoulders past Brendan and out of the office, slamming the door for what feels like the last time.

Brendan stays in the same spot for a while, trying to remember how to breathe.  Another shot glass shatters against the office wall, for old time’s sake.

-

A week and a half later, and Ste still hasn’t come back.  Cheryl knows it’s probably for good, and she’s devastated.

“God,” she groans, “I never should have pressured him.  What was I thinking?”

“It’s not your fault,” Lynsey says, drawing her into a hug.  “Addicts are often reluctant to accept the fact that they need help.  He’ll come back around, just you wait.”

“She’s right,” Brendan says, as much for himself as for Cheryl.  “Steven will want his job back eventually.”

“I feel so guilty, though,” she says, and Brendan feels like he’s fucked up in more ways than one.

“Come here,” he says, and Cheryl leans away from Lynsey to wrap her arms around Brendan.  “Steven will come back.”

Steven will come back.

Steven _will_ come back.

_Steven will come back._

Steven never comes back.

Nearly a month passes without a sight of him.  Brendan takes to pacing the length of the balcony every night on the off chance that he’ll catch Ste’s silhouette creeping around the village, but no such luck on that front.  Ste burrowed under Brendan’s skin and then tore himself out, leaving nothing but an irritated itching hole behind.

Brendan gives up after a while, assumes that Ste is out of his life forever, just like Vinnie.  But then a familiar face drops by the club, one attached to memories of Vinnie and apparently Ste as well.

“Danny Houston,” Brendan says, spreading his arms wide, “What brings you around to my humble abode.”

“One of my boys used to work for you,” Danny says, shaking Brendan’s hand.  “Went missing two weeks ago, I was wondering if you’ve seen him anywhere.”

“One of your . . . Boys?”

“Didn’t you know?” Danny asks, and Brendan feels dread creeping up his spine.  “I’ve expanded my business empire.”  
  
“Oh?” Brendan asks.  He doesn’t want to know what Ste does for this man.

“Turns out,” Danny says, dropping his voice low, “Prostitution is awfully lucrative around these parts.”

Brendan sniffs reflexively, trying to fix his face to show nothing but carefully crafted neutrality.  “Not really my style.”

“Understandable,” Danny puts his hands up, “But I heard that one of my boys, Ste, used to work the bar here when he wasn’t busy with me.”

“Well, Daniel,” Brendan says, “I didn’t know anything about Steven’s side jobs.  Sacked him a while back, actually”

Danny laughs, raspy and low.  “That one’s got a mouth on him, don’t he?”

The innuendo isn’t lost on Brendan.  “Real back-talker.”

“Well, you keep your eye open,” Danny says.  “I’ll toss some cash your way if you can drag him back to me.”

 _Like Hell I will_ , Brendan wants to spit.  Instead, he gives Danny a tight smile and says, “You’ll be the first to know if he drops in.”

Danny seems satisfied.  He says his goodbyes and goes to crawl back into his personal pit in Hell.  It’s the circle right below Brendan’s.

-

Brendan spends a few nights lying with his hands behind his head just staring up at the ceiling mulling over what he’s learned.  Ste isn’t just a whore, he’s an _owned_ whore.  He’s Danny Houston’s whore.  He’s not Brendan’s in any capacity, not that he ever really was.

And now he’s disappeared.

Brendan sleeps and Brendan dreams.  He sees car crashes and squared off holes that reach six feet below the ground.  He sees blue eyes shining and a bright smile with a crooked tooth.  He sees toes curling over white sheets and wakes up feeling like even his mind is against him.

And then, Ste comes back.

–

It’s pissing rain on the most depressing looking Sunday afternoon Brendan has ever lived through.  Despite how shitty the weather is, he feels pretty good, all things considered.  A transaction with a young gentleman with skin like tree bark and a smile like a checkerboard was the highlight of his day, but it’s better than dealing with drunk students trying to kill each other over cheap booze.

He’s sitting on one of the sofas upstairs in Chez Chez, killing time and holding down the fort.  There’s a crossword puzzle across his lap that’s kicking his ass, but his attention is stolen away when he hears the downstairs door rattle.

“We ain’t open,” he calls.  A few moments later, he hears rapid footsteps, and then the head of Steven Hay comes into view on the staircase.

“Bren,” Ste breathes, bounding over, and Brendan is taken by surprised at just how messed up he looks.  There are scrapes and bruises all over him.  His arms are bare – he’s dressed in nothing but a soaked t-shirt and a pair of jeans.  The term _drowned rat_ comes to mind.

Brendan realizes when he looks at Ste that he’s never actually seen him high, only on the comedown.  He’s got a split lip and blood seeping down from his hairline, but he’s talking a mile a minute, arms waving and pupils sucking up all the space in his eyes.

“I think – ” he says, breath ragged, “I think I need someplace to stay.  Just let me sleep in the club’s toilets until tomorrow, Brendan, and I swear I’ll be gone before anyone knows I was here.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brendan sits up straighter on the sofa, “Hold on a second, what’s going on with you?”

“It don’t matter, okay?” Ste says.  “Just don’t make me head back out there.”

“Were you followed?” Brendan asks, walking to the stairs and peeking down at the lower level.

“ _No_ , okay,” Ste’s patience is clearly running out.  “I just had a scare is all.”

“Fine,” Brendan sighs, walking back over and flopping on the couch.  “Take the other sofa.”

Ste screws up his face.  “I can’t sleep now, the sate of me!”

“Well what are you going to do in the meantime?” Brendan asks, “Count the ceiling tiles?”

Ste looks up like he’s considering it.

“Steven” Brendan says, and Ste snaps his attention back down.  “Lie down on the sofa.”

“No, I won’t,” Ste says, shaking his head.

“You’d rather take the toilets?”

Ste looks at Brendan with naked distrust.  “You’ll do something to me.”

“I’ll _what_?”

“I know what you’re like,” Ste says.  “You’ll hurt me, or fuck me, or – ”

“We’ve already established that fucking you is the last thing I want to do,” Brendan half-lies.  He’d be bullshitting if he said he didn’t want Ste anymore, but he’s not going to do anything when he’s like _this_.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then why did you come to my club?”

“ _Bren_ ,” Ste pleads, and Brendan has had enough.

“Sit,” he barks, and Ste falls back onto the sofa like someone has cut his strings.

“I’m scared,” Ste says, and it’s the quietest his voice has been since he got here.

“Don’t be,” Brendan says, putting his feet up on the table and picking his crossword back up.

The next God knows how long is spent with Ste babbling about everything and nothing, scratching at his arms the whole time.  He looks manic, like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.  He lets it slip that he stole something, and the owner isn't happy.  Brendan keeps his ears open.  Just because Ste said he wasn't followed doesn't mean that's true.

Whoever he stole from gave him a thrashing.  Those dark circles around his eyes are out in full force, though the bruise painting his left eye is probably intensifying the effect.  Brendan finds it hard to look at and pretends to ignore him, but it’s impossible.  Steven never stops talking.  The crossword book stays on the same page all day.

Brendan catches Ste’s eye only once.  Those owlish pupils unnerve him.  He bets that if he got close enough, he could see himself reflected perfectly.

By the time the sun is going down, Ste’s high seems to be wearing off.  He goes from manic and talkative to anxious and irritable.  His hair has dried at odd angles, sticking up straight in some spots and lying flat in others.

“Steven,” Brendan says softly, the first thing he’s properly said in hours.  Ste looks up reluctantly.  “Go to sleep.”

Ste lets out a sound that might be a sob before he curls up on the sofa like he’s told.  Brendan waits until his breathing has evened out to get up.  He finds one of the clean rags they use to wipe down the bar and wets it in the bathroom.  Then, very gently as to not wake Ste, he wipes the blood from his forehead and chin.

He’ll be damned if he’ll let Ste leave flakes of dried blood all over the sofa.

When the worst of it is gone, Brendan calls it a day and leans back on his heels to really get a look at Ste.  This has been a day of firsts: First time he’s seen Ste in over a month, first time he’s seen Ste high off his ass, first time he’s seen Ste completely relaxed without a single mask twisting his features.

It’s the closest he’s gotten to the healthy ideal Ste in his head, as ironic as it is.  Even with a busted lip and purple bruises decorating his face, Ste looks more natural now than he ever has before.

Against his better judgement, Brendan allows himself a single touch.  Two fingers slide along Ste’s forehead, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.  Then he stands up, wiping his hands on his trousers, and gets ready to head home.  All he leaves for ste is a note on the table that reads _LET YOURSELF OUT_.

Brendan is about to take off when he casts one more glance at Ste’s small body curled up on the couch.  He heaves a sigh and takes off his leather jacket, tossing it over Ste’s skinny frame and cursing himself for being so soft.

Brendan surprises himself when he doesn't steal a kiss.  He wants to, _Christ_ , he wants to, but that’s not the way this is going to happen.  Ste was right, after all.  Brendan can do anything to him right now.

But he won’t.

-

True to his word, Ste is gone when Cheryl and Brendan show up the next morning.  So is the note Brendan left, and his damned jacket, too.

Little shit.

Brendan thinks that’s the end of it, because nothing has lead him to believe otherwise.  He figured that Ste would disappear again and pop up a month later again, if at all.  He sure as hell doesn’t expect to open the balcony door at three o’clock in the morning four days later to find Ste sitting just outside.

So excuse him for yelping in surprise when that’s exactly what happens.

“Christ, you’re just popping up everywhere, ain’tcha?”

Ste just groans.

Fuck.

“Get up, come on,” Brendan says, poking Ste’s shoulder.  “Can’t be sitting out here coked out of your mind.”

“I’m not,” Ste mutters, curling farther in on himself.

“Then get up,” Brendan says.

Ste is quiet for a minute, and Brendan is ready to bodily haul him into the club.  Then he hears Ste’s quiet voice saying, “I need more.”

“Fucking hell,” Brendan sighs, getting a handful of Ste’s hoodie and dragging him to his feet.  Ste whimpers like it’s hurting him, and stumbles into the club as if he hasn’t used his legs since they last saw each other.

Brendan shoves him down on the sofa and goes over to the bar for a drink.  He’s going to need it.  Ste sits on the sofa, bracing his hands on the cushions in a way that makes it look like he’s having trouble staying upright.  Brendan knocks a shot back and tries to figure out how to handle this.

“Now,” he says, moving to stand next to Ste, “You gonna tell me why you dragged your sorry arse up those steps just to nap on my balcony?”

“I _told_ you,” Ste grits out, “I need more.”

“Ask nicely,” Brendan sneers, and Ste actually _does_.

“Please,” he whines.  “I’ll do anything.”

_Anything._

This isn’t the same Ste that tried to fuck Brendan for some coke the day they met, it’s a shallow imitation.

“No way,” Brendan says.  “I know you ain’t got the cash, boy.”

Ste looks up then, and Brendan gets his first good look at him.  His left eye is less swollen now, but the bruise has faded to a sickly yellow.  “I weren’t planning on paying for it in cash.”

Brendan shoves Ste back and strides the length of the room, trying to stay calm.  Ste just won’t give it a rest.

“If you don’t,” Ste calls after him, “I’ll find someone else who will take what they want from me for drugs money.  And I know you won’t like that.”

Brendan pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Awful full of ourselves, aren’t we.”

“Shut up, Brendan, just – ” Ste sags into the sofa, looking grey and deflated and so unlike how he _should_.  Brendan has half a mind to give him the drugs for free, just to see some kind of light in those eyes.  “I get why you act like you do.  I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” Brendan bites.  “Only an idiot would make a pass at a bloke who already gave them a smack for doing just that.”

“It’s cause you’re scared of being the way you are, right?” Ste asks, looking sidelong at Brendan.  “Or maybe cause you think I’m damaged goods, don’t want sloppy seconds.  Not far off the popular opinion, that.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Brendan hisses.  “Just go to one of your other dealers, alright?  I know you got plenty.”

Ste shakes his head.  “Pissed off the wrong blokes, me.  I’m scared to go back.”

“Danny?” Brendan asks, cursing himself for getting so involved in this clusterfuck.

Ste just nods.

“Well, Steven,” Brendan sighs, “I don’t know what you did to get into his bad books, but it’s my understanding that he writes them in pen.  Your best bet is pissing off out of this place and hoping he forgets about you.”

“Can’t,” Ste shakes his head.  “I got no cash, no friends who trust me enough to let me stay with them, no clothes but what I’m wearing, and no coke.  Just let me do this, Bren, please.”

“You want it that badly?” Brendan asks, patience wearing thin.  “Fine.  Show up tomorrow night at the regular time and work for it like you used to.”

“No, come here,” Ste says, beckoning Brendan over.  “I want it like this, right, because I’m tired of you being such a knob about it.”

“Steven, I’m sure you’re an excellent fuck for depraved queers looking for a drugged up call boy, but don’t take it personally if I don’t want to stick my dick in you.”

“You think I _like_ this?” Ste asks.  “The bloke who arranges most of my clients makes me go to one of them health clinics, right.  First time they asked how many partners I’ve had, I nearly cried, cause I couldn’t even remember.”

Brendan can feel his stomach start to turn.  “This really is an engaging tale, Steven, but – ”

“ _No_ ,” Ste cuts Brendan off, “You listen to me!  I don’t need you telling me how disgusting I am, right, because that’s all I ever hear from everybody else.  But if I have to do this, at least let me do it with someone I want.”

Brendan surges forward and shoves Ste hard, pinning his arms to the back of the couch as he hisses in his face, “You say that again and you’ll be walking out of here with your teeth in your hands.”

Ste huffs in a way that sounds like he’s laughing, and Brendan can’t stand the judgement he sees in those tired eyes.  “I hate myself plenty,” he says, “And you probably hate me, too.  But not nearly as much as you hate _yourself_.”

“Alright,” Brendan drags Ste to his feet, “Time for you to go."

“Can you just look at me,” Ste shrieks, fighting against Brendan’s hands clamped hard on his arms, “And tell me, hand over heart, you don’t want it?”

“I don’t,” Brendan takes a deep breath, and lies, “I'm _not_ gay.  I don’t want you.”

Because as much as he _really_ does, Ste isn’t worth the trouble.

“Now get out.”

“You know that if I leave,” Ste’s voice is trembling, “I’m just going to find someone else.”

“And word will get back to Danny in a heartbeat,” Brendan says flatly.  “Good luck with that.”

“Don’t matter,” Ste says, jerking his arm free.  “You were my last resort, anyway.  No place left to go but back to him.”

Back to Danny Houston.  

Ste won’t last an hour.

“You’re more of a headache than you’re worth,” Brendan says, shoving Ste aside and strides into the office.  He has the safe open and the last of his cocaine in his hands before Ste even wanders into the doorway.

“So, you’re gonna – ” Ste starts, sounding hopeful, but Brendan isn’t hearing it.

“Here,” he says, tossing the package in Ste’s direction.  “That won’t last you forever, but it should be long enough for you to patch things up with Danny Boy so you can get your fix from him and leave me the _fuck_ alone.”

“People like you don’t just give drugs away,” Ste shakes his head and puts the package down on Brendan’s desk.  “You’re going to use this as something to hold over me.  I won’t take it just so I'll owe you something later.”

“I’m not – ,” Brendan runs a hand down his face.  “Christ, Steven.”

Brendan’s tired of this, so fucking tired of the push-pull in his head.  Kiss Ste, smack Ste, kick Ste out, drag Ste in, it’s splitting his head in two.  He rubs at the bridge of his nose, trying to block out Ste’s voice, but it doesn’t work.  He hears that accent in his _sleep_.

Ste wants to work for it?  Fine.

Brendan wraps a hand around the back of Ste’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.  He means for it to be hard, impersonal, and quick.  But when Ste gasps and starts to kiss back, Brendan’s brain calls it a day.  He can still feel the words _I'm not gay_ sitting on his tongue, but Ste shoves them aside with a desperate, filthy kiss.

The other hand joins in on the fun, running through Ste’s dirty hair.  He hates that he’s not disgusted, that his heart is hammering and his breathing is heavy.  He was right when he assumed Ste’s lips would be chapped.  They’re rougher than he’d hoped, but it’s hard to complain when Ste is kissing him like _this_.

Boy certainly knows what he’s doing.

Brendan pulls back, shoving Ste away at an arm’s length, and tries not to give too much away.  “There.  You’ve payed up, now get out.”

Ste looks stunned.  “What was that?”

“It was a kiss,” Brendan says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I’m sure you get plenty of them when you’re working for Danny.”

“Not really,” Ste runs his fingers along his lips.

“Hmm,” Brendan straightens his jacket and smoothes down his moustache.  “Color me surprised, I thought your johns were all roses and chocolates kind of blokes.”

“Brendan,” Ste says, reaching out to touch Brendan’s chest.  Brendan smacks his hands away before he can even make contact.

“I said _out_ ,” he barks.  There’s a moment where Ste doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.  He just looks at Brendan with flushed cheeks and red lips that make him look almost healthy.  His eyes aren't angry, they're confused and _sad_.  Then he licks his lips, and Brendan would have tossed him out just for that if he didn’t quickly snatch the package off the desk and scurry away.

Alone again in the empty office, Brendan sags into his chair and stares at the whiskey bottle on the corner of the desk.

Not tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Here’s a charming notion for you: Brendan could probably jack off until his dick was broken, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

He falls back against the pillows, breathing hard and regretting moving to this goddamn town altogether.  Even with dealers like Danny hanging around ready to stab him in the back at the slightest provocation, Brendan’s been doing well for himself, financially speaking.

Mentally, though, he’s a wreck.

There have always been some unspoken rules with which he’s built himself around.  Recently, he’s decided to add a new rule: don’t get attached to gorgeous addicts with attitude problems.  Brendan has a type.  He likes boys who are skinny, receptive, and mouthy.  Nowhere on that list are the worlds _junkie_ or _prostitute_ for a reason.  He likes his boys to be fun, not fucked up.  Never too much baggage, never too much hassle.  If Brendan’s going to find a nice little plaything, it’s going to be a hush-hush drama free arrangement.

Too bad a certain Steven Hay didn’t get the memo.

Brendan looks down at the mess on his stomach and considers moving back to Ireland, just to spare Ste and himself the headache.  Because if Brendan sticks around and Ste makes a habit of stumbling into his life, he’s going to break and try to tame Ste as his own.  If there’s one thing Brendan isn’t good at, it’s sharing his toys.  There’s no way he can have Ste all to himself when the drugs come first and Danny Houston is a looming figure on the horizon.  But if Ste ever gets clean, he’ll have no reason to be around Brendan _ever_.

The mess on his stomach is starting to dry.  Something should probably be done about that, but Brendan can’t be arsed.  His muscles aren’t working on account of all his brain power being used to think about how the Hell he’s going to deal with the Steven situation.

The way he sees it, this comes down to three options:

He can keep hanging on to the chance that Ste will come back around and they can continue their routine as they have been.

He can cut Ste out of his life entirely, refusing to acknowledge him.

He can take Lynsey’s advice and encourage Ste to get clean, so that Brendan will be able to chase after him without the knowledge that he’ll be out getting fucked and fucked up every night.

That last one would be ideal if he knew Ste would have a reason to stick around.  But he’s made it clear that he only wants Brendan because he’s pegged him as being less than straight – something Brendan isn’t going to forgive him for any time soon – and realizes that Brendan’s willpower fails around him.  He can get drugs from Brendan and keep making money from regular clients, and Brendan _hates_ that.

Part of Brendan acknowledges how selfish he’s being, but he can't bring himself to care.

-

Days later and he still hasn’t come up with a definitive game plan.

Days later and Ste shows up during business hours looking worse than before.

His face is so mashed up that Brendan wouldn’t even be _able_ to let him work the bar in the state he’s in.  Good thing Cheryl’s not in tonight, or she’d be making herself sick with worry for him.  The black eye seems to have receded to just dark smudges contouring his eye bags, but there’s a gash at the bridge of his nose and a puffiness to the skin that makes Brendan think it’s broken.

“Howdy, stranger,” Brendan says, surveying the purplish swell of Ste’s nose.  That’s broken, alright.  “Thought I told you to piss off.”

“Can I talk to you?” Ste’s voice is softer than Brendan expected.  “In your office.”

Nothing good ever comes from Brendan and Ste alone in the office.  “What’s wrong with right here?”

“It’s private,” Ste says.  It always is with Ste.

“I told you,” Brendan’s fingers wave in the vicinity of Ste’s face, and he has to rein them in before he starts throttling the bloke.  “I’m not going to deal to you anymore.”

“But things have changed, haven’t they?” Ste asks, looking up through his lashes.  It’s a flimsy attempt at seduction, and the type of behavior that’s so clearly _whorish_ that it has Brendan’s stomach turning.

How many men has Ste fixed with that look?  Brendan is just a number.

Brendan flicks Ste’s nose, just to kill the mood, and turns away to walk to the office.  After grabbing his nose and squawking, Ste obediently trails behind Brendan like a hungry dog.

“Close that door,” Brendan says once they’re in the office.  “You got one minute to convince me not to lock you in the cellar and call Danny over to clean up his trash.”

That makes Ste look nervous.  “I got a proposition.”

“Thought you said you could make more lying down than working for me?”

“I did, alright, because I can,” Ste says.  “But I think I have an idea that you’ll like.”

“I’m sure,” Brendan says flatly.  It’s always the same shit with Ste, and he’s not convinced this time will be any different.

“I want to get out of Danny’s ring,” Ste says, and Brendan drops his chin to his chest with a heaving sigh.  “And since you two are – you know.  I thought I could work for you, instead. Just you. For real this time, whatever you want.  Bar work, dealing… Anything you want.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Brendan says.  “I’m not a nice guy.”

“I don’t think I need you telling me what’s best for me, alright,” Ste says.

Brendan laughs.  “Not that that matters, you clearly don’t care what’s best for you.  Else you’d have packed it in with Danny Boy months ago.”

“Danny is scum, yeah, but he keeps me safe and he pays me for what I do.”

“Keeps you safe?” Brendan asks, fixing Ste with a hard look.  “I think you mean _keeps you hooked_.  I suppose you got them bumps and bruises by getting in a fight with a sidewalk, too.”

Ste bites his lip like he’s trying to hide the gash in it.  “That’s not why I want out.  He only beat up on me because I was out of line.”

“Really?” Brendan’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Imagine that.”

“He smacked me cause I hurt a client,” Ste says, and Brendan itches to know exactly what Ste did.

He choses not to ask, though.  “Danny’ll kill you for less.”

“Know that from personal experience, do you?” Ste asks, and Brendan screws his mouth up to keep from saying something he’ll regret.  “Or just because he’s so much like _you_?”

“Listen, Steven,” Brendan says, advancing on Ste, “Last time I got attached to a pretty blond boy like you, he wound up dead.   _Car crash_ says them.   _Bullshit_ says I.”

“Oh?” Ste asks, and he doesn’t look nearly as scared as he should.  “You think you know who did it.”

Brendan nods, brushing Ste’s fringe off his forehead in a way that is more threatening than tender.  “Your employer.”

“What were his name?” Ste asks.

“Da – ”  Brendan starts, brow furrowing.  “I just told you.”

“No,” Ste squeezes his eyes shut.  “I mean the, er, the boy.”

Brendan wasn’t expecting that.  Nobody asks about _him_ anymore.  “Vinnie.  He was called Vinnie.”

“So I were right, weren’t I?”

“About what,” Brendan asks.  “Me and Danny being bad men?”

“No,” Ste shakes his head.  “About you being – you know.”

Brendan clears his throat.  “Is that what you think?”

“Well,” Ste says softly, like he’s picking his words carefully, “You did kiss me.”

“Yeah,” Brendan smiles, and it’s all teeth, “I’ve also smacked you.”

“That were nothing,” Ste says, and it almost sounds like he’s bragging.  “I’ve had guys pay just to beat me up before."

Brendan’s smile falls and his eyebrows shoot up.  “And you let them?”

Ste doesn’t say anything.  That’s a yes.

“We’ll, Steven,” Brendan says, “I’m not sure what the point of this little chat is anymore, but thanks for letting me know how fucked in the head you are.”

“Not nearly as fucked as you,” Ste spits.  “In fact, you and me are more alike than you want to admit.”

“I’m not the one screwing strangers for _Danny Houston_ ,” Brendan says.  “I might like having a boy in tow, but that doesn’t make me anything like you.”

“I’m not stupid,” Ste hisses.  “And neither is Danny.  He told me about  you, what you’re like.  I wrote him off at first, but he were right.”

“Right about what?”

“That you like boys like me,” Ste says.  “And that you don’t like to share.  That’s why you were always in moods when I’d come in all – uh.  After I’d been on the pull.”

Brendan quirks a humorless smile at that.

“You don’t _have_ to share, though,” Ste says, running his hands down Brendan’s chest.  “Come on, I’ll work for you and _only_ you.  Don’t that sound nice?”

Brendan wraps his fingers around Ste’s wrists and pries his hands away.  “First of all, do not touch me.  Second, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a whore?”

“I don’t have to be a whore,” Ste says, averting his eyes.  “I’ll do anything you’ll pay me for.  With drugs or cash.  But now that I know about you, why won’t you at least give me a try?”

“You want to fuck _me_?” Brendan asks, waving his finger between them.

“Well, if I’m going to be bending over for someone for drugs – ”  All Ste wants out of him is drugs, like always, “I wouldn’t mind it being you.”

“This little crush of yours is very sweet, Steven,” Brendan says, not fooled for a second, “But you’re not going to get any more freebies out of me.  Now run along.”

Ste huffs, and his expression shifts from coy and flirty to hard and tired.  “Fine.  Danny is looking for me.  Says I owe him money, but I got all my cash from him in the first place.  He told me to come here and get as much off of you as I could.  If I go back empty handed, he’s gonna… Pass me around like I’m nothing.”

“World’s tiniest violin,” Brendan pouts, rubbing his ring finger and thumb together.  Ste just frowns at him.  “Reservoir Dogs?  No?”

“Yeah, your stupid jokes aren’t helping, Brendan.”

“Really?” Brendan asks.  “Then I suggest you giddyup out of my club.”

“How many times are you gonna tell me to get out?” Ste asks.  “How many times are you going to threaten me and then do nowt about it.”

Brendan opens his mouth to tear into Ste, maybe literally.  At this point, who knows.  But Ste is saved by an obnoxious banging.

“What do you want?” Brendan shouts, staring Ste straight in the eyes.

“Brendan!” Rhys’s muffled voice sounds from behind the closed door.  “We got a problem out here!”

“Fuck,” Brendan shoves Ste aside to open the door.  “Give me a minute to escort our friend Steven here out of the building and I’ll be over.”  
  
“Might want to make it quick,” Rhys says, and Brendan takes his suggestion to heart.

“No, Brendan please, _Brendan_!” Ste babbles. He looks genuinely afraid as Brendan drags him out of the club.  “Please don’t make me go back, I can’t go back!”

Brendan drags Ste around so that they’re nose to nose and rubs his fingers together.  “ _Tiniest_.   _Violin_.”

One last look at Ste’s busted up face, and Brendan’s shoving him outside and turning to figure out what is so bad that Rhys can’t handle.  Everybody expects _something_ from him tonight.

-

Turns out it was a fight.  A big fight.  Brendan gets an elbow to the face and thinks, _I probably deserve this._

That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.  He’s less happy when he arrives home and has a shrieking Cheryl trying to play doctor in Lynsey’s absence.

“I’m just a little bruised up,” Brendan says, shoving her hands away.  “Stop screeching, my head is splitting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry love,” she says.  “Just want to help is all.”

“Yeah well,” Brendan is ready to bite out something cruel after all the shit he had to deal with tonight between Ste and the fight, but he softens once he sees the look on her face.  “Well – thanks.  I could, I mean if you want, I could use some ice.”

“You just stay right there,” she says, leaving Brendan sitting on the couch while she disappears into the kitchen. She comes back with a bag full of ice, which Brendan accepts gratefully.

“I’m scared we’re drawing in the wrong crowd,” she says.

“It’s a nightclub, Chez,” Brendan sighs.  “As long as we serve drinks, people are gonna get rowdy.”

“It just kills me to see you hurt like this,” she says.  

“Hey, hey,” he says, “This ain’t that bad, alright?  Nothing I can’t take care of.”

Cheryl nods and tries to drag Brendan into a hug.  He gets out of it by exaggerating the amount of pain he’s in.  She leaves him in relative peace for the rest of the evening, only hovering instead of outright fussing.

In the morning, he glances at the mirror and sees the ugly swelling around his nose. The cracks are deepening, he and Ste are becoming more and more alike.

-

Having two people so unforgivably shit at cooking alone in a flat on a sunday evening is a tragedy nobody should have to suffer through.  That’s why Brendan finds himself walking in the frigid november cold with two bags of takeout dangling from his numb fingers at nine o’clock at night. Never let it be said that he doesn't make sacrifices.

Cheryl asked him to pop into the club quickly to pick up the purse she left there.  He leans against the downstairs wall to root around for his keys, but notices in the dim shadows of the street light that the door isn’t fastened close the whole way.  It's unlocked and open a crack.

That’s odd.

The door opens with a gentle push, and Brendan walks inside to sit the takeout bags down.  Something isn’t right.  He creeps upstairs, careful not to make a sound, and looks around in the dim lighting of the empty club.

The office door is ajar.

Fancy that.

Soft as a shadow, Brendan glides across the floor until he can see movement in the office.  Someone is crouched on the floor, a wee little thing wearing a grungy tracksuit and rummaging suspiciously close to the safe.

Brendan pushes the door open with two fingers, letting it squeak in the still silence of the club.  Ste, _of course_ it’s, Ste, freezes at the sound.  He turns around slowly and fixes his wide eyes on where Brendan is leaning against the doorframe.

“You just can’t take a hint, can you?” Brendan drawls, soaking in the terror spreading across Ste’s face with abject _glee_.  Ste has given him a real, tangible reason to kick his ass in the form of a backpack full of familiar yellow packages.  Naughty naughty Steven.

“You should really change the combination more often,” Ste bites out, but his voice is shaking.

“Consider me impressed, Steven,” Brendan pushes off the doorframe and corners Ste against the wall.  “Never expected you to have the attention span to memorize a combination let alone figure it out.”

“I told you, I’m not stupid.”

Brendan’s eyebrows shoot up.  “I wouldn’t give yourself that much credit.”

Ste yelps high in his throat as Brendan steals his air away with a fist to the stomach.  That’ll smart alright.  Ste crumples, and Brendan drags him into some kind of twisted hug to breathe into his hair.  It’s the closest he’s let himself get to Ste.  He mutters in Ste’s ear, tells him how he shouldn’t have done that, whispers that he’ll be hurting when he limps back to Danny.  He holds Ste close and listens to his pained grunts all the while.

Turns out that’s the wrong move.  Ste might be a skinny bastard, but he’s a fighter.  Teeth sink into the juncture of Brendan’s neck and shoulder, and he shoves Ste back with a wail.

“You fucking,” he breathes, “You _bit_ me.”

Ste bares his teeth like he’s threatening to do it again.

“Okay, down boy,” Brendan says, standing up and rotating his shoulder.  That hurt.

“You made me do this, okay?” Ste croaks. “If you’d just get over yourself and deal to me like anyone else – ”

Brendan groans and rubs at the bite mark.  “I ain’t selling unless I profit.”

“Come on, Bren,” Ste begs, “Just let me take this, I’ll pay you back later.”

“With what money?”

Ste crumples in on himself with a sob.

“Alright,” Brendan says, gripping Ste’s arm hard enough to bruise and hauling him to his feet, “You gotta go.”

Ste grunts, grabbing his ribs as Brendan drags him kicking and screaming out of the office.  They make it halfway to the stairs when Ste wriggles free and slugs Brendan.  Credit where it’s due, the little guy has an arm on him.  Brendan stumbles back, but recovers with just enough time to return the favor.  His fist connects with Ste’s face and Ste’s face hits the bar, culminating in Ste dropping in a heap on the floor, out cold.

Oops.

Brendan curls his fingers a few times and tries to figure out what to do next.  Ste’s tiny enough that Brendan could probably carry him, but he can’t just dump him outside the club, now can he?

“Brendan?”  He turns to see a fuming Cheryl gaping at him.  “What the hell is going on here?”

Goddamit.

“Chez, listen,” Brendan says, putting his hands up like that'll make him look innocent.  “He was stealing, he was trying to rob the till.”

“Not Ste,” she says like she can’t believe it.  Brendan has to fight the urge to scream at her.

“Yes, Ste!”

“Oh, god, is he okay?” She asks, approaching Ste’s body.  Brendan panics.  She’ll be able to see the backpack and open safe from here.

“Ice,” he barks suddenly, “Go get ice and something to clean up the blood.”

She obeys, scrambling towards the ice machine while Brendan joggs to the office.  He grabs the whole god damn backpack and shoves it haphazardly into the open safe.  Christ, he hopes she didn’t see it.

“Checked the office for bandages or something, found nothing,” he lies easily.  Cheryl is shaking her head and pressing a towel full of ice where Ste’s eyebrow is starting to swell.

“We have to get him home.”

Yeah right.  “Don’t know where he lives, do you?”

“It’s fine,” Cheryl says, “We’ll take him back to the flat.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brendan shakes his head.  “You want to drag a bleeding junkie into our home?”

“Brendan, look at him!” she shoots Brendan those pleading eyes.  “He’s worse off now than I’ve ever seen him.”

“Great idea, Chez,” Brendan deadpans, “Let’s bring him home so he can rob us there, too.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him, and Lynsey can take a look at him in the morning.”

Just then, Ste makes a small pained noise.

“Brendan, look at him,” Cheryl pleads, busting out those sad eyes again, and that’s how Brendan winds up slinging a bleeding Steven Hay over his shoulder and lugging him down the street to his flat.

They get some stares, mostly when Ste whimpers at Brendan’s unkind handling, but Cheryl’s presence keeps people from saying anything.  That, and the fact that Brendan has a reputation as the local nutter.  What a team they make.

“Be careful now,” Cheryl says, racing to the bathroom as fast as her six-inch heels will take her, “Don’t want to do more damage to him.”

“Maybe _you_ don’t,” Brendan mutters, gracelessly flopping Ste down onto the sofa.

“I can’t be here,” Ste groans weakly.  “I have to get back to Danny with the drugs – ”

“Shhhhh,” Brendan hushes.  “We’re not going to mention that, are we?”

Ste blinks at him.  One peep out of him, and Brendan’s going to be in even _more_ hot water.  Ste doesn’t say anything, though, he just slowly looks around the living room like he just realized where he is.  “This your flat then?"

“Yep,” Brendan says.  “Don’t get any ideas.”

“You’re not gonna,” Ste starts.  Brendan can’t tell if he’s scared or if he’s playing up the lost little boy act for Cheryl.  “You’re not gonna do anything to me, are you?”

“What?” Brendan asks, crouching down to get in Ste’s face.  “Like lay you out and bash your thick skull against the bar for robbing me?  What kind of a monster do you take me for, Steven?”

The plan was to bring Ste back to the reality of the situation and get him to stop acting like the victim.  Doesn’t work.  “I gotta go.”

“Don’t be daft, love,” Cheryl says, returning with towels and pain killers.  “I know you’re in a bad place, but you’re okay here.”

“Chez, what are you doing?” Brendan hisses.  “You do remember that he _robbed_ us?”

“Maybe _you_ shouldn’t have sacked him for nothing, then,” Cheryl says, and Brendan thinks his head is going to explode.

“No,” Ste mumbles, trying to get up, “I really can’t stay.  I don’t want any more trouble.”

“Ste, you’re hardly fit to walk,” Cheryl says, trying to ease Ste back down onto the sofa.  “I’m not gonna let you wander back outside if you have a concussion or some sort.”

“I’m scared,” Ste falls back into the cushions.  “I don’t want to be around him.”

“Around who, love?”

“Me,” Brendan says.  Ste shrinks farther in on himself.

“Oh, sweetie,” Cheryl laughs, trying to dispel some of the tension, “There’s nothing to worry about with our Bren.  I know he was a hard boss and he overreacted when he found you, but he was just looking out for the club’s best interest.  Weren’t you, Bren?”

“Uh,” he scratches behind his ear, looking away from the scathing look Cheryl is shooting him over her shoulder.  “You bet.”

Before Cheryl can say anything else, an ungodly grumble emanates from Ste’s stomach.  Brendan rubs his hand down his face in mental distress.

“I left the takeout in the club,” he admits.  “And your purse.”

Cheryl deflates.  “Ugh, Brendan!”

“Sorry, Chez!” he throws his hands up.  “I didn’t expect to find one of our old barmen trying to rob us blind!”

“Brendan, can I talk to you?”  Cheryl sighs, leaving no room for Brendan to refuse as she strides to the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” she whispers, hushing her voice like Ste isn’t completely out of it, “But all I know is I found you standing over a bloodied up Ste without a scratch on you and not a single note on him.”

“It was – it was in a backpack,” Brendan says.  “By the way, he _bit_ me.”

Brendan starts to tug his collar aside to show her when she smacks him on the arm.  “Brendan, can you pleases just go get that food?  Cool down a bit and then come straight back here.  I’m gonna get Ste cleaned up.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Brendan says.

“Bren,” she sighs, “You knocked the sense out of him!  He won’t be _able_ to try anything.”

Brendan casts a glance back to the couch.  He can’t see him, but he knows Ste is lying there curled into a ball with aching ribs and a splitting headache and the thought of Danny Houston beating him to bits in the back of his mind.  This is a shit situation for everyone involved, even if Cheryl doesn’t realize it.  One whiff of Ste in this apartment, and everybody living here is in danger.

But Cheryl’s eyes are boring into him, both angry and sad at the same time.

He puts his coat on, and he goes.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Steven Hay lying in his bed – this is the stuff dreams are made of.

Unfortunately, Brendan knows this isn’t a dream.  His back hurts too much after sleeping on the sofa at Cheryl’s insistence for that.  If it’s his fault that Ste is in this state, he should at least give the boy somewhere comfortable to sleep.  Or, so said Cheryl.  Honestly, Brendan is starting to wonder if she was in on the robbery, too.  Otherwise, she seems to have completely forgotten that this little shit tried to _steal_ from her.

This is bitter reality, alright.

Hard to blame her for being soft, though, looking at Ste now.  He’s in a bad way, all bruised up and curled in on himself like he can’t even let his guard down in his sleep.  Brendan feels a brief pang of regret for hitting him so hard… And it’s gone.

Gotta get him up and out of bed so Lynsey can look at him and Brendan can kick him out, though.  Brendan braces one knee on the bed and leans over enough to give Ste a solid swat on the arm.

Ste jerks awake, blinking dazedly into the early morning sunlight.  Then his eyes find Brendan, and the look on his face freezes into something awfully close to terror.

“Morning, camper,” Brendan says. Ste turns away with a whimper and drags the duvet over his head.  “Now, don’t be like that.”

“Please, just leave me alone,” Ste groans.

“I’d love to,” Brendan says, leaning over Ste’s body, “But you’re in my bed.”

Ste goes still.  “Please don’t.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Steven,” Brendan rumbles, but Ste just coils in farther on himself.

“I’ll leave,” Ste says, “Just don’t – ”

Brendan curves his hand around Ste’s covered shoulder and squeezes.  It’s tender enough that Ste peeks his head out and casts a glance back at Brendan.  There’s a gash by his eyebrow from where he faceplanted on the bar and his nose has seen better days.  His eyes are what catches Brendan’s attention, though.  They’re so soft and curious and blue.

Then Brendan bunches the duvet up under his fingers and tears it off of Ste’s now-pliant body.  Ste yelps and Brendan starts to walk away.  “Time to get up.  Lynsey’s home and Cheryl wants her to take a look at you.  Then you can go wherever you want as long as it’s not back to my club.”

Brendan leaves the door open as he walks back downstairs.

“So,” Lynsey asks, “How’s the patient.”

“Awake,” Brendan says, making a beeline for the fridge to look for something to eat.  “Is this milk off?”

“Cheryl and I were thinking of grabbing lunch at The Dog,” Lynsey says.  “Maybe Ste would like to come with us, if he’s fit for it?”

“I really think this milk is off.”

“Brendan,” Lynsey sighs, but she’s cut off by the squeaking of the staircase.

“Milk’s bad!” Brendan announces, and pours it down the sink with a look of remorse on his face.  Behind him, Lynsey is already fussing with Ste.  Brendan tries to feign disinterest as he fixes a sandwich, but before long he’s meandering into the living room to watch Lynsey poke and prod at Ste.

“You’ve got a pretty nasty nasal fracture,” Lynsey says, ghosting her gentle fingers over the swelling of Ste’s nose, “But I’m guessing that’s not because of Bren, is it?”

Ste shakes his head.  “Happened a while ago.”

“And it went untreated?” Lynsey asks.  Brendan can practically see the cogs turning.  She knows that Ste is in a rough situation, and she’s going to do something stupid to save him or some such bullshit.

“Didn’t seem bad enough,” is all Ste says.

“Well,” she sighs, “I doubt you need to worry about septal hematoma, but it wouldn't hurt to pop over to hospital for further examination.  No concussion from the looks of things, and the swelling around that gash on your forehead should go down easy enough.  There’s some ibuprofen around here that should help with that.  Just keep it clean.”

“Thanks,” Ste says quietly.  Lynsey’s heart visibly _melts_.  The lost boy act is getting him far.

“Now that we know Goldilocks isn’t gonna croak on us,” Brendan takes a hefty bite of his sandwich, “Are we gonna discuss the matter of a certain failed robbery?”

“Brendan, don’t speak with your mouth full,” Lynsey gently scolds.  He just winks at her as he chews his sandwich into submission, and she begrudgingly gives into a smile.

“I can leave now, right?” Ste asks.

“Well,” Lynsey starts, “I thought – ”

“Yep,” Brendan says.  “You know where the door is, bye-bye.”

“Brendan,” Lynsey says.  Her smile is gone.  “Don’t you have something you have to take care of at the club?”

“No,” Brendan says, and then realizes: “Dammit, it’s delivery day.”  
  
“If you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss the truck.”

She’s right.  She’s always right.  Brendan bounds upstairs to put some decent clothing on, leaving Lynsey and Ste downstairs.

It feels wrong to just let Ste go after what he’s done.  Lynsey and Cheryl both seem defensive of him for God knows why.  Brendan realizes he’s also going to have to deal with the drugs backpack in the safe today, too.

Everything was so much simpler before Steven Hay happened to him.

-

Three hours and one brand new jug of milk later, Brendan walks back into the flat and nearly spins around in the doorway and leaves.  Ste is _still_ sitting on the sofa, looking sad and anxious and in need of a fix.  Brendan _does not_ need this today.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks.

“Cheryl and Lynsey went to get some food,” Ste explains.  “I didn’t want to go.”

Brendan toes his shoes off and gives Ste an unamused look.  “So you decided to sit around here? In my flat?”

Ste huffs like a petulant teenager.  “Nowhere else to go.”

“Why not back to your sugar daddy, Danny?” Brendan asks, putting the milk in the fridge.

“Fuck you, Brendan,” Ste sighs.  The usual heat behind his words is gone, and Brendan hates it.  Ste doesn’t say anything else, so Brendan rummages around the kitchen before wandering into the living room.

“Cookie?” Brendan offers, holding one out for Ste.  “I’ll crush it up so you can snort it, if you want.”

It’s a low blow, but it _still_ doesn’t get a rise out of Ste.  Brendan plays it off like he doesn’t care by gracelessly shoving the entire cookie in his mouth while maintaining direct eye contact.

“I don’t wanna be like this, you know,” Ste says, pulling his knees to his chest.  “Stealing, and fucking people for money, and dealing when I’m trusted enough around drugs.  I know what people say about me.”

“Then stop,” Brendan says flatly.

Oddly enough, that gets a smile out of Ste.  “Can’t, though, can I?  Else I would have already.  It was good at the start, when I was making money just dealing.  Never expected all this.”

“Really?” Brendan shovels another cookie into his mouth, “And here I thought you started whoring yourself out because you _wanted_ to ruin your life.”

“You have kids,” Ste says, “Don’t you, Bren?”

That disarms Brendan.  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’d do anything for them, right?”

“Steven, I love my kids more than you can imagine,” Brendan says, “But I’d never let myself get so low that I’d have to fuck people to support them.”

Ste goes quiet a minute.  “You don’t know that, though.  I didn’t, and look at me now.”

Brendan shoots Ste an unimpressed look.  “Please, never become a father.”

Something shifts in Ste’s face, and Brendan is afraid he’s about to get cried on or something.  Then he realizes – oh _dammit_.

“I haven’t seen them in over half a year,” Ste says, and he _really_ sounds like he’s going to cry now.  “Can’t blame Amy for keeping them from me, can I? No dad is better than a drug addict dad.”

Brendan can’t wrap his head around this newfound knowledge.  “You have _children_ and you’re selling yourself for Danny Houston?”

“I started dealing for him when we ran into money troubles,” Ste admits.  “He convinced me to do a couple of lines – told me coke isn’t the same as heroin, you don’t get addicted as easy.  I guess that was stupid.”

“Yeah,” Brendan says, voice rising. “Pretty stupid!”

Ste ignores him and hugs his knees tighter.  “Then he told me I could make more money if I’d let him try me as an escort.  Didn’t know what that meant at first.  Found out pretty quick, though.”

Brendan can’t listen to this unless he’s got a bin to puke in nearby.  The cookies are warring in his stomach as we speak.  He gets to his feet and spits, “Fascinating, more insight to the train wreck of your life.”

“Stand there and act disgusted,” Ste shouts, finally meeting Brendan’s eyes, “But I know you’d do the same thing if you were Danny!”

“I ain’t Danny,” Brendan hisses.  “I don’t mess people up in the head and then force them to fuck for their fix.”

“You ruin people’s lives,” Ste spits.

“I let people ruin their own lives.”

“That’s bullshit,” Ste says, and _there’s_ the fire that Brendan desperately wants to burn up in.  “You exploit people like me, who are weak or messed up or hurting or whatever you want to call it.”

“I never put a gun to your head and said _snort_ ,” Brendan bites out, “Now did I?”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Ste says, and there are tears in his eyes now.  “I let my kids down, Brendan!  I’d never do that if I could help it.  All those times I was begging you for wages?  I did that so I’d have something to send back to them when my Leah had the flu.”

_Leah._

“Your daugher is Leah?” Brendan’s blood is cold, and Ste looks confused.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“And you’ve got a Lucas, too,” Brendan says.

Ste nods frantically.  “How’d you know that?”

“Because you never shut up,” Brendan mutters.  Ste’s a piece of shit, but he’s a piece of shit who’s trying to look out for his kids.  That’s… Something.  “How’d you even get someone pregnant?  Aren’t you queer?”

“Uh,” Ste says, and he’s completely lost his fire in the wake of utter confusion.  “You’ve got kids, too.”

“Good point,” Brendan says.  He can’t even be mad right now, not like he always has been with Ste.  “How’d you fall so low?”

“Excuse me?” the fires are flaring back up.

“You should be taking care of your kids,” Brendan says,  “Not getting coked up every chance you get.”

“Fuck you, Brendan, you don’t know anything,” Ste spits.  “What I do, I do for them.  I go out and I let people use me so that I have something to send back to their mother, so she can be able to take care of them.”

“And somewhere along the line you thought it would be fun to take a field day and happen to get addicted to cocaine."

“It don’t work like that, okay?”  Ste is on his feet now, getting up in Brendan’s face.  “She put me out for the kids' sakes after I brought drugs home –"

“Sounds like a smart girl.”

“And since then I’ve been in bedsits, alright,” Ste says, counting out on his fingers, “I’ve been in shelters, I’ve been homeless, I’ve been locked in Danny’s basement like a _pet_ , but I have never stopped sending everything I can back to my kids.”

Rock bottom, that’s where Ste is.  Put out by the missus, too fucked up for the kids, running on fumes and powder, he’s a wreck in every sense of the word.  There’s a sickness in him deeper than anything Lynsey will ever find.

Brendan can’t _believe_ he’s going to do this.

“Do you want your job back?”

“What?”

“Behind the bar,” Brendan says.  “I’ll let you work if you swear that _every penny_ goes back to those kids of yours.”

“I don’t need anything from _you_ ,” Ste looks like the idea appalls him.

“Steven,” Brendan puts his hands on Ste’s shoulders in an attempt to ground him, “If you don’t take this job, where will you go?”

Ste tries to shrug him off, but Brendan doesn’t let up.  “I’ll find something, I always do.”

“By that you mean,” Brendan frowns, “You’re going to go find someone lonely and horny to give you the most underwhelming fuck of your life on scratchy sheets for barely anything.”

“Awful specific, that,” Ste bites, “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Brendan shoves Ste back down onto the couch and practically kneels in his lap.  Ste tries to shrink away, but there’s nowhere to go.  “Do _not_ push your luck boy.  I’m running out of patience with you.”

“If you slip me some coke and give me proper wages,” Ste says cautiously, “Then I’ll think on it.”

“What,” Brendan springs to his feet, “You’re coming up with _conditions_ now?  I’m doing you a favor.”

“Alright,” Ste says miserably.  “I’ll work for you.  But if you try anything weird, I’m gone.”

“Please, Steven,” Brendan points at himself, “When have I ever been _weird_?”

Ste rolls his eyes, and Brendan wants to pretend he can see a smile tugging at those lips.

-

Ste is _still here_.  The admission about his apparent homelessness and the fact that Danny Houston is probably sniffing all over town for him can probably explain that, but _still_.  Brendan has been avoiding him all day since he made the mistake of hiring him.  Again.

Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on –

“Bren?” Lynsey’s voice asks through the door.

“Yeah?” he calls back, folding a shirt and tossing it on the bed near the pillow.  Brendan can't help but wonder where Ste is even going to sleep tonight, because if he’s sleeping in Brendan’s bed again then –

“Got a minute?” she asks, peeking in the room.

“For you,” he says, letting out a puff of steam from the clothes iron, “Any minute at all.”

She rolls her eyes and walks in.  “Not ironing downstairs?”

“Steven’s down there, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, about him,” Lynsey says, plopping down on the foot of Brendan’s bed.  “You two clearly had a talk.”

“Yeah,” Brendan says, fiddling with the sleeve of one of his shirts.  “We have more talks than I’d like.”  
  
“Don’t be like that, Bren,” she chides.  “It doesn’t take someone who went to med school to know he’s seen better days.”

“Yeah,” Brendan snorts.  “Weird how drugs will do that to a guy.”

Lynsey grimaces and looks away.  “I don’t blame you for being mad at him.  I just… I just hope that whatever you’re doing, you’re doing to _help_ him.”

“As opposed to?”

“Brendan,” she deadpans, “You don’t have the most amazing track record for extravagant acts of generosity.”

“Oh, Lynsey,” he grasps his chest, “I’m _hurt_.”

“I’m serious, Brendan,” she says.  “According to Chez, you wanted to kill him last night.  It just seems a bit too good of you, you know?”

“He told me some stuff,” Brendan admits.  “Got kids he can barely support.  Bit of an absent papa of late.”

“Oh,” Lynsey says, like she just cracked the code.  “I get it.”

“You get what?” Brendan looks up and is met with her huge cheeky grin.

“See a bit of yourself in Ste, do you?”

Well, that’s one way to put it.

“I stand by my earlier point,” Brendan says.  “He’s still a waste of space, but he’s a waste of space looking out for his kids.  I owe it to them, at least.”

“Sure you do,” Lynsey says, and she’s _still_ grinning.  “Well, in that case, I’m proud of you.”

“Good to know,” Brendan says.  “I do everything with the hopes of earning your validation.”

“Oh, learn to take a compliment,” she gives him a playful shove.  “I’m gonna turn in.  Long day tomorrow.”

“Night, Lyns,” Brendan says.

Just before she leaves, she turns around and gives him a pointed look.  “Play nice with him.”

Brendan isn’t entirely sure what she means by that, so he blows another puff of steam in her direction for good measure.

At no point for the rest of the night does a tired Ste come trudging up the stairs looking for a soft place to curl up for the night.  Brendan thinks that maybe he bailed, and they won’t have to worry about him again until he shows up at Chez Chez for his shift.  He’s proven wrong, though, when he goes downstairs to use the bathroom and finds Cheryl on the sofa with Ste practically sleeping in her lap.

“Well, this is cozy,” Brendan says, and Cheryl tries to shush him.

“He’s getting a bit weird,” she says.  “Shaky and the like.  I think he’s going through _withdrawal_.”

The word slips out in an exaggerated whisper, and Brendan tries not to laugh.  “Trust me, Chez, withdrawal is much worse.  This is just a little bit of a hangover.  I’m sure he’ll get his hands on some more stuff later.”

“Oh, god,” she sighs, “I hope not.  I wish he would just go to rehab like Lynsey wants him to.”

“He has to want it, too,” Brendan says, and walks into the bathroom.  The mirror is nicer to look in today.  The swelling around his own busted up nose has gone down.

He considers _not_ jerking off in the shower to the thought of Ste back in that black uniform, but that would require a sense of decency that he’s long since abandoned.

-

It takes Brendan three whole days to realize that the backpack is _gone_.  It hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing around here, but Ste is pulling together enough to make his shifts.  He keeps disappearing at night, preferring not to have sleepovers at the Brady-Nolan household.

Now Brendan knows where he’s been going.

“Steven!” Brendan barks, earning some startled looks from clubbers.  “Office, now!”

Ste scrambles in his direction with the kind of energy that he didn’t have when he was in the flat.  He’s definitely had some kind of pick-me-up recently, and Brendan really doubts it was Adderall.

“Steven, what do you see there?” Brendan asks, pointing at the open safe.

Ste looks genuinely lost for a minute, and Brendan mentally applauds his acting skills.  “Nothing?”

“Exactly,” Brendan says.  “ _Nothing_.  So where is your little drugs backpack?”

“I – I did it so he’d stop hounding me,” Ste swallows hard, not even bothering to come up with a lie.  “Then I told him I'm done with him for good, I swear.”

Brendan shakes his head.  “How did you even get back into the safe?”

Ste just shrugs.

“When I gave you a job back,” Brendan says, “I wasn’t forgiving you for your stupid little stunt, and I _really_ wasn’t giving you permission to do it again.”

“I know,” Ste grimaces, “But I had to, else Danny would have trailed me back here and _then_ what would happen?”

Even after getting the shit kicked out of him, Ste had the balls to steal from Brendan again so Danny would lay off.  That’s… Sort of endearing, actually.  In a fucked up way, but Ste is a drug addict and Brendan is a drug dealer, so they can only stray so far from fucked up behavior before they cease to function.

“I should give you another smack for this,” Brendan says, voice dangerous and low.  “But lucky for you, there are punters swarming the bar right now.  Doubt I’d be able to smack your little head off of it with everyone out there.  So it looks like I’m just going to have to… Let this go.”

Ste’s eyes widen.  “You’re not serious.”

Brendan blinks.  “Okay, you’re getting a huge pay cut this first check.”  
  
Ste’s shoulder slump pathetically.  
  
“Jesus, boy,” Brendan breathes, “I just spared you another broken nose, look lively.”

“I’m sorry, I just,” Ste reaches out to grab Brendan’s hand like they’re in grade school.  “Thank you.”

Brendan casts and incredulous look down at where Ste’s fingers are loosely curled around his own.  He lifts his hand and shakes Ste’s fingers free, and then turns away without a word before he can see the look of disappointment on Ste’s face.

“But just so you know,” Brendan drops down into his desk chair and fishes around for his phone, “I’m not going to keep letting you off easy.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Ste says, which is funny because all Brendan ever does anymore is give Ste undeserved breaks.  

“Do you know what this is?” Brendan asks, pointing a the keypad on his phone.

“Uh,” Ste grunts.  “It’s your phone?”

“Wrong,” Brendan says.  “It’s the number _6_ , which happens to be Danny Boy’s speed dial.  You do something stupid even _close_ to that again, and I’m calling him down here to pick you up and take you back to where you were before.  Understand?”

Ste nods.  “I’m done with Danny, remember?  I paid him off, and I’m done.”

Brendan almost laughs.  You’re never just _done_ with Danny.  Ste doesn’t know that, though, not yet, so Brendan just settles on saying, “Good lad.”

“Brendan, seriously,” Ste says, approaching the desk and coming to stand next to Brendan.  “I know what I did was stupid, but I had to.  I don’t want to go back to Danny, I want to stay _here_.”

Brendan can’t tell if his ego is just growing large enough to block out vital brain space or if Ste keeps looking at his mouth.  It doesn’t matter, though, because once Ste licks his lips, Brendan is _gone_.

He stands up quickly, startling Ste a bit, and kisses him hard on the mouth.  For a terrifying second, he thinks Ste’s going to shove him away or shrink in on himself in fear.  But Ste doesn’t disappoint when he starts kissing back.  The boy is an absolutely dirty kisser, getting his tongue involved just the right amount and biting at Brendan’s lower lip like this is something they do all the time.

The pang of smugness that shoots through Brendan when he pulls away and Ste follows his mouth is almost enough to make him forget that he should be fuming right now.

“Er, what was that about?” Ste asks, looking a bit dazed.

“You know how heroin dealers will give some of their product away for free to get people hooked?” Brendan asks.

Ste wrinkles his nose.  “I’m not into heroin.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m doing,” Brendan says.

“You’re so weird,” Ste says as he gets up on his tip-toes, but Brendan puts a finger on Ste’s lips before they reach their destination.  Christ, it’s already working.

“Don’t you have a bar to tend to, Steven?” Brendan asks, dragging that finger down and admiring the way it catches on Ste’s lower lip.

“Come on,” Ste pouts, “Only other time you did that you were angry.”

“I’m angry now,” Brendan insists.

“You have a weird way of showing it,” Ste says.

“ _Steven_ ,” Brendan says, “ _Bar_.  At this rate, you’re never going to work off all that shit you stole from me.”

Ste seems to remember their current arrangement, because some of the light goes out of his eyes.  “Right.”

When Ste walks to the door, Brendan falls back into his chair.  The sudden blast of loud music as the door opens gets Brendan’s attention long enough for him to see Ste’s cheeky smile as he leaves.

The door swings shut, and the music is snuffed out to a muffled thrum.  It’s soft and annoying, kind of like Brendan’s conscience right about now.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Wakey, wakey,” a hand comes down on Brendan’s thigh, “Get up before your Cheryl promotes me to manager.”

“Keep dreaming, Steven,” Brendan mutters, and turns his face farther into the pillow.

“I would be if you didn’t make me sleep on the couch,” Ste complains.

“Your back is young,” Brendan rolls over and stretches, not missing the way Ste’s eyes sweep across his body for a second.  “You can handle the couch.”

“All I’m saying is that it’d be nice if you’d let me have the bed once in a while.”

“Sorry, Steven,” Brendan says, checking the bedside clock, “I’m not that kind of gal.  Go cuddle with Lynsey if you’re sick of sleeping on the couch.”

“Maybe I will,” Ste grins, and walks out of Brendan’s room.

Because this is what they do now.  They tease each other relentlessly and they share food and they (well, Brendan at least) shout death threats through the bathroom door at seven in the morning because for all intents and purposes, they’re _flatmates_.

Ste is still working at Chez Chez and Brendan is still slipping him coke every once in a while.  He tells himself he does it to keep Ste on a short leash, but that’s not entirely true.  More than anything, it’s to keep Ste from heading back to Danny.

That’s a thought for another time, a time after coffee.  Brendan wanders downstairs and is hit in the face with the smell of eggs and toast, and his stomach overrides his brain.

“What’s that?” he mumbles, and Cheryl jumps up to drag him into the kitchen.

“Ste made us breakfast!” she says, and she’s right.  There’s a plate of toast, two pieces for everyone next to a skillet full of eggs.  There’s sausage in there, too.  Brendan can’t see it, but he can smell it.

“Huh,” he grunts.  He doesn’t want to bring the mood down, so he manages not raise questions about the quality of food made by a junkie.

“Cheryl said this would wake you up,” Ste says, scooping the eggs onto a platter.  This is the most this kitchen has been used in years.

“Gimme some of that,” Brendan says, reaching around Ste to steal a piece of toast.  Ste nudges him away with his hip, and Brendan looks him straight in the eye as he shoves the entire piece in his mouth.

“Ugh,” Ste rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.  Brendan winks and pours himself some coffee.

Ste is… Happy.  And energetic.  And smiling.

Brendan honestly wonders if he managed to snort a few lines before everyone else woke up.  Right now, he doesn’t care.  The way to Brendan’s heart is through his stomach, and Ste just proved he has that locked down already.

This is going to get messy if he keeps thinking this way, but it’s hard not to fall a little bit in love with someone after they’ve made you breakfast.  Brendan nearly proposed to Lynsey the last time she did something like this.

“Used to think about opening a restaurant,” Ste says at one point, forearms soaked as he cleans the last of the dishes.  It doesn’t escape anyone’s notice that he hardly ate anything.  “Even looked at catering schools and stuff.”

“You’re certainly good enough for it,” Lynsey says from where she’s leaning against the counter, coffee in hand.

Ste beams, but his smile fades quickly.  “I worked in a kitchen before.  Don’t think I’d be able to go back anytime soon, though.”

“Do you ever think about,” Lynsey takes a sip like she’s preparing herself for her next words, “You know, getting clean?  For good?”

There’s a moment of silence in which the only sound that can be heard is Brendan crunching down on his toast.  Cheryl gives him a stern look for some reason, and he just shrugs.

“Can I, though?” Ste eventually asks, failing to look at Lynsey.

“Course you can,” she says.  “No such thing as too late until you’re dead.”

Brendan barks out a laugh.

“That’s cheery, alright,” Ste says.  “Guess as long as I don’t die, I’ll be good.”

Lynsey reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.  “Give it a thought, okay?  We’ll help you whenever you need it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Brendan’s voice is muffled around the eggs.

“Brendan!”  Cheryl and Lynsey scold at the same time, and Ste just laughs.

“Don’t worry about him,” he says.  “He’s all talk.”

Brendan tosses a balled up napkin at Ste and hits him right in the back of the head.  Take that.

-

Ste has good days, and he has bad days.  Brendan is starting to realize his own moods are syncing up with Ste’s.  It’s probably because Ste is a little hurricane when he’s got something dragging him down, and Brendan gets caught in it every time.

It’s worse on the days that Ste comes in looking like he’s been done over by a baseball bat.  He doesn’t tell anybody where he goes when he disappears from the flat, but Brendan has an idea.  He follows Ste down to the cellar one night.  Privacy is necessary for way too many of their conversations, and Brendan is tired of associating the inside of the office with Ste’s angry pouty face.  

Ste’s smoking.  Brendan knows he comes down here to do this.  He watches him sometimes on the surveillance cameras, wondering how Ste has the time and money to feed a nicotine dependency on top of everything.

Ste notices him when he’s about to leave, and tries to push past him back upstairs.

“Hey,” Brendan says, stopping Ste with a hand on his chest, “You’re not still whoring yourself out, are you?”

“What?” Ste look affronted.  “No!”

“Well, you look like it,” Brendan hisses.

“Well I’m _not_ ,” Ste spits, and tries to leave.  Brendan bunches his hand in Ste’s hoodie and shoves him up against a wall.

“I’d suggest watching your tone, Steven,” Brendan says.  “Or Cheryl might just hear about your smoke breaks down here.”

“Like she’d actually care,” Ste says, and tries to wiggle free.  Brendan isn’t letting him.

“Listen, Steven,” Brendan says, “I don’t know how you manage to get busted up like this all the time even after getting away from Danny Boy, but if you keep showing up like this I’m gonna have to yank you from behind the bar.”

“A few cuts and bruises aren’t going to scare anyone away, come off it.”

“I’m just thinking about my business, Steven,” Brendan says, and lets Ste go.  Ste straightens his hoodie and sods off back upstairs.  The scent of cigarette smoke is hanging in the air down here, and it makes Brendan want to be sick.

When he gets back upstairs, though, Ste isn’t there anymore.

“Where the hell is Steven?” he asks.

“Bathroom duty,” Jaqui answers.

“Oh,” Brendan says.  “Carry on.”

He’s about to leave when Cheryl comes into view, practically skipping over to the bar and sitting down at one of the stools.

“Hey, you,” she says.  “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Brendan says flatly.

“You’ll like this one,” she grins, spinning back and forth on her barstool.

“Fine,” Brendan grunts.  “What is it?”

She hums like she’s considering telling him.  “You’ll find out in a few days.”

“The suspense is killing me,” Brendan says, and walks away.

“Oh, well something’s got you in a mood,” she calls.  Brendan just rolls his eyes and walks off.  Fucking surprises.

-

Brendan opens his eyes to an eerie stillness and a sinking in his gut.  He didn’t wake up for nothing, something dragged him out of sleep with purpose.  The streetlights outside shine just enough for Brendan to be acutely aware of his surroundings as he lies on the couch and waits.

Then he hears it, a faint voice from upstairs calling his name.

Brendan throws the blanket off of himself with a sigh and pads upstairs, bare feet freezing on the hardwood.  Apparently, it wasn’t bad enough that Ste moved in and steals Brendan’s bed half the nights of the week, now he won’t let Brendan get any sleep.  It’s ass-o’clock in the morning and Ste needs a bedtime story or something.  Brendan approaches the bedroom door and pushes it open, and realizes something is wrong.

Ste is sitting on the bed with a bloody hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes.

Well, shit.

“I’m sorry,” he sounds congested as he says it.  “Must have started when I was asleep.”

Brendan assumes he knows what’s going on: all that snorting has caught up with Ste, now he’s leaking blood all over the place.  With a sigh, Brendan heads to the bathroom and dampens a towel, returning to see that Ste hasn’t budged an inch.

“Those were nice sheets,” he says, but he can’t muster any real heat behind the words.  Ste just grunts and sits still while Brendan presses the cloth to his nose.  Absently, Brendan notices how hard Ste’s fingers are shaking.

Brendan pulls back to survey the damage.  Ste’s nose is still bleeding steadily, but his focus is entirely on Brendan.  He looks like shit, all dark circles and thin skin.  Brendan is about to press the damp cloth to Ste’s nose again when Ste surges forward and kisses Brendan firmly on the mouth.

“Mmph,” Brendan grunts, and pushes Ste back with his hands on his shoulders.  Brendan can feel the blood on his lips, and that should really be _icky_.  And it is, on some level, but clearly not enough since Brendan wants to kiss him again.

“Mind explaining that?” Brendan asks.  There’s a drug addict’s blood on his lips and he’s not even bothered.  He should be swimming in sanitizer and scheduling blood tests right about now, but he’s not.

“I don’t know if I want to be like this anymore,” Ste admits.  “All messed up.”

“Couldn’t imagine why,” Brendan says, and Ste shoots him a look.

“I’m serious,” he says.  “I’m tired of spending everything I make on drugs.  And I miss my kids.”

“Sometimes we fuck up, Steven,” Brendan says, dabbing at the rest of the blood that’s dried to Ste’s cheek.  “And when we fuck up, we have to deal with the consequences.”

“I’ve been dealing with consequences for over half a year,” Ste pouts.

“Yeah well,” Brendan sighs.  “You fucked up pretty hard.”

They fall into silence, which Brendan didn’t even know was possible when Ste is involved.  But then Ste pipes up again, “Would you be mad if I stopped buying from you?”

“Why would I be?” Brendan asks.

Ste shrugs.  “Danny was raging when I told him I was out.  Thought he were going to kill me, really.”

Brendan feigns disinterest.  “You were shit for business, anyway.  Got way too many freebies out of me.”

“Would I –” Ste hesitates a moment.  “Would I still be able to keep my job if I got clean?”

Brendan feels something swell in his chest at the question.  This is the sort of thing he’s been itching for.  He settles for an impassive, “I suppose.”

Ste smiles at him, and he looks prettier than a drug addict with a bloody nose has a right to be.

-

Sometimes, Brendan thinks that if he licks his lips, he can still taste Ste’s blood.

It’s two days later and things are about average.  Ste hasn’t made a single move toward getting clean, but Brendan isn’t in the mood to push him.  Lynsey keeps dropping hints, and Ste looks like he wants to acknowledge them.  He never does, though.

In the span of a few days, Brendan has also forgotten about his _surprise_.  That is, until Declan is standing in front of him in the club with a duffle bag over one shoulder and a crooked smile on his face.  Brendan drags him into a hug and ruffles his hair and savors every second of it.

“Mom’s in Chester visiting a friend,” he explains.  “I knew you and aunt Cheryl moved here, so I asked her if I could visit you instead.”

“And she let you?"

Declan is about to say something when a voice rings out through the club, cutting him off.

“Who’s this then?” Ste asks sunnily as he strolls up to the bar.   _Shit_ , Brendan didn’t consider how Ste was going to fit into this equation.  Declan is one more person who might find out something through Ste that Brendan would rather keep hidden.

“Steven, I uh,” Brendan clears his throat, “This is my son, Declan.”

Ste’s eyes light up instantly.  “So this is the Declan I’ve heard so much about.”

“Hi, Steven,” Declan says, offering a smile and an awkward wave.

Ste grins.  “Just call me Ste, everyone does.  Except your dad, but he’s well weird like that.”

Declan grins and Brendan rolls his eyes.  “Ste, can you take Declan over to the flat to see Chez?  I still have some work to do here.”

“No problem,” Ste says, and he and Declan walk off together.

It’s nice, seeing Declan after all these months.  It reminds Brendan that he has something real to strive for.  Their interactions feel forced and awkward at first, and Brendan knows that being a bit of an absent father is what caused this.

That, and… Other things.  They get over it as well as they can.

There’s a problem, though.  Declan has taken a liking to Ste.  That’s the last thing Brendan needs right now.  It’s not like he can do much to stop it, though.  It happens before he even really notices it.  It starts with Declan wanting to sleep on the sofa – insisting that he’s younger and smaller and fits better on the couch.  Brendan was terrified Ste was going to offer to sleep with him in his bed now that the sofa is taken, but he doesn’t.  He offers to sleep on the floor next to Declan instead.

Before long, Ste is making food for Declan and Declan is telling Brendan that they’re off to play football together.  What’s Ste doing playing football when he’d usually be somewhere filthy or begging Brendan for a fix?

Worst of all is that Brendan doesn’t know what sorts of things they’re talking about.  Ste is friendly and never shuts up, God knows what kinds of things he’s whispering in Declan’s mind.  Brendan went through enough shit growing up gay that he’d never wish that on his own son.  Nevermind the fact that Ste’s a junkie. If he deals to Declan, Brendan will kill him.

He hasn’t come around the house high and he hasn’t gotten _too_ friendly with Declan yet, but Brendan can’t help but expect it.

“Steven,” Brendan snaps one evening, “You mind having a sleepover with one of your buddies for a few nights?  Declan deserves the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“It’s fine,” Ste says, “I don’t mind the floor.”

“Bren, just take the bed with Deccy,” Cheryl suggests, and Brendan’s blood freezes in his veins.

“No,” he bites out.  “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Sure your back can handle it?” Ste teases, and Declan grins.

Brendan bites the inside of his cheek before he says something really stupid.  “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Steven?”

Thankfully, Ste takes the hint.  “Uh, sure.  I’ll stop by tomorrow before my shift.”

Ste takes off then, not even bothering to grab his jacket on the way out.  Cheryl tuts.

“What was that about, Bren?” she asks.  “He was just poking fun.”

“Hold on a minute, will you two?” Brendan sighs, and rushes out after Ste.  He hasn’t gotten far, just to the bottom of the steps outside the flat, and Brendan’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“What is it?” Ste huffs.

“Hey,” Brendan grabs him and looks him in the eye.  “You stay away from my boy, hear me?”

“What?” Ste scrunches his face up.

“I don’t need you rubbing off on him.”

“Seriously, Brendan?” Ste shakes himself free.  “I’m not going to do anything to him.”

“You’re a drug addicted queer,” Brendan says.  “He doesn’t need to be around that.”

“Oh,” Ste huffs, “A drug _dealing_ queer is so much better now?”

Brendan shoves Ste backwards hard enough to make him stumble.  “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“I’m trying to get better, Brendan,” Ste says, “You know that.”

“Ain’t good enough,” Brendan says

“Well, it’s going to be hard to avoid him,” Ste points out, “What with me living here and all.”

“Then maybe you should move out,” Brendan says, and walks away from the sound of Ste’s angry protests.  

“Why are you being this way?” Ste asks, following Brendan.

“Because I don’t need you messing about with my son,” Brendan says.

“What,” Ste breathes, practically whispering, “You think I’m gonna tell him about us?”

“Us?” Brendan hisses, voice low, “There is no _us_.”

“Bullshit,” Ste says.  “There is.  Or at least, there was.”

And with that, Ste turns around and walks off.  Brendan rakes a hand through his hair and wonders if he messed things up with Ste for the last time.  When he looks up, Declan is standing just outside the flat with something like disappointment in his eyes.

-

Ste doesn’t come back to the flat before his shift.  That probably has something to do with Ste failing to even show up for his shift.  The trend continues for a few days, and Brendan gives up on him  _again_.

He tries to play it off like it’s nothing, but he can’t fight the tension out of his body or the glasses of whiskey he keeps downing.  Lynsey asks if he’s okay once, and his tight smile is enough to make her sigh and back off.

Even Declan has noticed something is off.  With Ste gone, Brendan has more time to spend with Declan, and they both seem glad for that on some level.  But there’s no denying that Ste has left a vacuum in Brendan’s life.

“So,” Declan says over breakfast five days after Ste has left, “Lynsey is worried about Ste.  I guess aunt Cheryl said he didn’t come into work these last few days.”

“Not surprising,” Brendan drawls.  “Can’t put your trust in people like that.”

“Da, you’re acting really weird,” Declan points out.

“Sorry, I just…”  Just what?  Brendan can’t even bring himself to say it.

“It’s because Ste’s gone, right?” Declan asks.  “Why’d you tell him off like that?”

“Steven is a bad man,” Brendan says.  “You don’t need to be around that.”  
  
“I know about the drugs,” Declan says.  “I’m not stupid.”

Brendan laughs humorlessly.  “I don’t doubt that, but you don’t know the half of it.”

“He told me he’s trying to get better,” Declan says.  “And I believe him.”

“You don’t get better from _that_ ,” Brendan spits.  “Steven is a queer on top of everything else.”

“So?” Declan says.  It throws Brendan off.

“You don’t recover from being a queer, Declan,” Brendan says.

Declan rolls his eyes, typical teenager.  “Yeah, I know that.  Who’s to say he has to, though?”

“All I’m saying is that he’s got too many problems you can’t fix,” Brendan says.  “So there’s no sense in letting him drag you down with him.”

“He’s an alright guy, dad,” Declan says.  “I think you should go find him and… And apologize.  Or at least let him come back?”

“I told him to get lost because that’s what’s best for you,” Brendan argues.

“No,” Declan shakes his head, “That’s what you _think_ is best for me.”

Brendan looks at Declan and wonders what Ste’s kids look like.  Probably blond, with enormous blue eyes.  Or maybe they take after their mom, whatever she looks like.  Declan and Ste look like they could almost be related.  Declan’s going to get taller, though, and stronger.  Maybe he already is.

Maybe he’s already stronger than both of them.

“You think I should bring an _addict_ back into my house?”

“Lyns says she wants to help him get better,” Declan shrugs.  “Doesn’t that mean that here is the best place for him?”

Brendan raises his eyebrows.  “You sure your mom will like the idea of her son staying with a queer junkie?”

Declan shrugs again.  “She doesn’t need to know.”

Brendan breathes out a small laugh at that.  “Alright.  I’ll think on it.”

“Thanks,” Declan smiles, and Brendan tries to return it.

“I gotta go to the club, here,” he shoves some money in Declan’s hand.  “Go have fun while I take care of things.”

“Alright,” Declan mumbles, and Brendan gives him a pat on the arm before pushing past him.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“And, hey, dad?” Declan calls out.  “Can you cut it out with the _queer_ and _junkie_ stuff?  Ste’s really not that bad.”

Brendan turns to look at Declan.  He doesn’t say anything, but he gives Declan what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile.  Then he heads outside and over to the club.  Cheryl’s hard to miss.  Brendan heads straight for her.

“Hey,” he leans in to ask her a question, “Have you been talking to Declan?”

“About what?”

“Steven.”

Cheryl rolls her eyes.  “That boy of yours isn’t stupid, Bren, and he’s not a little kid anymore.  He can think for himself.”

“He wants me to go out looking for Steven,” Brendan huffs.  “Can you believe that?”

“Brendan,” she sighs, “How many times are you going to push that boy away?  It’s not making matters any better.”

“He pushes himself away every time he snorts a line of coke,” Brendan says, and Cheryl smacks him on the arm.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about.  Quit acting like Ste is messing about on purpose.”

“Well he sure as Hell isn’t doing it by accident!” Brendan says.

“You know what I mean,” Cheryl frowns.  “These drugs are ruining his life.  I wish he’d listen to Lynsey, and I wish _you’d_ give him a break.”

“Jesus,” Brendan sighs, “Some kid makes it out like he tripped and fell on a needle and suddenly I’m the bad guy.”

“Brendan,” Cheryl says, leveling him with a hard look, “Go find Ste.”

Brendan gapes.  “You’re joking, right?”

Cheryl shakes her head.

That is, more or less, how Brendan finds himself taking the day off to play hide and seek with a drug addicted ex-barman.

-

Brendan doesn’t make a habit of creeping through shadows in bad parts of town.  He prefers the alleyways that smell less like cheap booze and vomit, thanks.

The things he does for family.

He’s dangerously deep in what Danny probably considers his territory.  Fuck Danny, and fuck the cracked concrete he’s trying to build an empire over.  Brendan asks around, keeping his head down any time he sees anybody even vaguely familiar.  It seems a few people know just who Ste is, and they’re as disgusting as they are helpful.  Brendan winds up in front of a shitty one story flat, and the door isn’t even locked when he checks it.

“Steven!” Brendan booms, ignoring the few people staring at him like zombies.  Ste doesn’t belong here.  Nobody belongs here, but that’s a thought for a different day.  “Your sorry little arse in here?”

He throws a few doors open and peeks into a couple of rooms where people are doing some rather unmentionable things before he hears the gentle call of _Brendan_ from the other side of the house.  Brendan follows the sound to a dingy bedroom with bunk-beds and a mattress on the floor.

Ste is sitting against the far wall with a red cheek and a shell-shocked look about him.  Brendan ignores the sinking in his gut to take a look around the room.  Ste’s trousers are lying draped across an ancient looking radiator, but his pants are thankfully still on.  He’s got a shirt on, too.  It’s the same one he was wearing when he left days ago.  Draped over his shoulders is a familiar leather jacket.

“Shouldn’t take people’s stuff,” Brendan says, and Ste looks up at him.

“What?”

“That’s my jacket, kiddo,” Brendan drawls, walking closer to Ste.

“Oh,” Ste says, and draws it tighter around himself.  “It’s stupid.  I thought, I dunno.  Maybe if I wore it, I’d hurt less.  You always looked so solid in it.  Like nothing could push you down.”

“You let somebody use you,” Brendan takes a deep breath, “While wearing my jacket.”

“No, you idiot,” Ste says gently.  “I put it on after.”

“Oh,” Brendan says.  “You, uh –”

“He didn’t even pay me,” Ste cuts in.  His eyes look _dead_.  “He just smacked me and walked off.”

Brendan shakes his head like his brain is stuck and he’s trying to jumpstart it.  “And you didn’t go after him?”

Ste looks down.  “Thought maybe I deserved it.”

Brendan lets out a ragged breath.  He doesn’t want to hear _I deserved_ _it_ out of Ste.  “You deserve a lot of things, Steven, but that ain’t one of them.”

“Fuck you,” Ste bites, and Brendan is starting to think that Ste can only snap out of his stupors anymore if Brendan pisses him off.  “Like you care.  I’m just another messed up whore, aren’t I?”

“Among other things,” Brendan mutters, and Ste shakes his head.

“Why are you even here?”

“Lynsey and Cheryl,” Brendan clears his throat, “And Declan, they were worried.  Wanted me to hunt you down and drag you back to the flat – back home.”

“Well, you found me,” Ste spreads his arms wide.  “Used and busted and on my last penny again.  I bet they’ll love seeing me in this state.”

“Who was it?” Brendan asks, looking around at the dingy room.  “The guy who smacked you.  Want me to pay him a visit?”

“ _No_ ,” Ste breathes, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s about all I can do for you,” Brendan says.

“You can get me out of here,” Ste looks up at him with piercing eyes.  “Please?”

Everyone will kill Brendan if he comes home empty-handed.  That’s what he tells himself as he tugs Ste to his feet and tosses his trousers at him.

“Put those on,” Brendan starts to walk away.  “Don’t want to make obvious that I’m taking a hooker home.”

-

They wind up at the empty club at Ste’s insistence.  Apparently he doesn’t want anyone else to see him like this, and Brendan can’t blame him.  He calmed down a bit on the walk back, though.  Now he’s more talkative, and his voice comes out stronger.

“And it ain’t like I did a bad job or nothing,” Ste says, continuing the gripping tale of the asshole who didn’t pay.  “That guy was just a prick.”

“You should have asked for cash up front, Steven,” Brendan says, and he cannot believe he just gave Ste hooking advice.

“I tried, but he promised he’d give it to me after,” Ste sighs, sinking into the cushions of one of the sofas.  “I was desperate. That’s why I stayed with Danny so long.  He had a client system that worked.”

“I’m sure Danny was an excellent boss,” Brendan says.  That actually gets the first real smile out of Ste since this whole thing started.

“Nah,” he says, “You and him are both pretty shit.”

“Watch it,” Brendan says.  “Don’t make me sack you again.”

“Surprised you don’t anyway,” Ste sighs.  “I mean, I’m not exactly the most reliable employee.”

Brendan snorts.  “I’d love to, but Chez would probably murder me in my sleep.”

“No,” Ste says.  “She’s the sort who would look you in the eye when she did it.”

“Wow, Steven,” Brendan drawls, sitting in the sofa opposite Ste, “Thanks for the heads up, I guess.”

Ste smiles.  His eyes look so tired.  “Don’t mention it.”

Neither of them says anything for a while.  Brendan starts tapping his fingers against his thighs and thinking about how to fill the space.  He’s shit at smalltalk.  There’s always the opportunity to insult Ste, that always makes for interesting conversation.

He’s about to comment on the silence when Ste shoves himself up off of the sofa and crawls over the table to flop gracelessly next to Brendan with a dopey grin on his face.

“What do you think you're doing?” Brendan says, trying to inch away from Ste.

“You have that face on,” Ste says, sagging against Brendan.  “That constipated thinking one.”

“Wow, Steven,” Brendan deadpans, “That’s charming.”

Ste shrugs.  “We’re alone, aren’t we?”

“Far as I can tell,” Brendan says, and he already knows where this is going.

“So would it be okay if I,” Ste sits up straighter to look Brendan in the eye, “If I kissed you?”

Brendan raises his eyebrows.  “I know where that mouth has been.”

Ste shakes his head.  “Nobody’s used my mouth lately.”

“Christ,” Brendan says, “The charm just keeps flowing.”

“Well, can I?” Ste pleads.

“Steven –”  Brendan starts, but he’s cut off by Ste’s mouth on his.  He shoves him off immediately, getting to his feet and clenching his fists.

“Did I say you could do that?” Brendan barks, and Ste shrinks back into the pleather upholstery.

“No, I –” Ste stutters, “I’m sorry, Brendan.”

“Like Hell you are,” Brendan breathes, and kneels on the couch to drag Ste into a hard kiss.  This is better.  Ste lies stunned for a moment before kissing back.  It gets filthy in a matter of seconds. Brendan gets his fists in the leather jacket still hanging off of Ste’s skinny frame and absently thinks that he likes Ste in his clothes.

Their kisses, when Brendan allows them, are never quite like this.  They’re quick and they’re hard, just enough to tease Ste and relieve some of Brendan’s tension. But now Ste is moaning gently, and Brendan doesn’t know and doesn’t care how much of it is just a whore acting like a submissive lay.  He’ll take whatever he can get from Ste at this point.

That is, until Ste starts moving his hips and rutting against Brendan’s thigh.  He’s hard and moaning for it underneath Brendan, heat rolling off of him in waves.  This gives Brendan a thought that ruins him: he wonders if this is how Ste was fucked earlier today.

Brendan shoves off of Ste before the thought can even finish.  He can’t do this.

“Bren?” Ste asks, voice low and tantalizing.

“Be quiet,” Brendan orders as he walks over to the bar and grabs the first bottle of whatever he can get his hands on.  He downs a shot of it and frowns at how weak the burn is.

Ste is kneeling on the couch, looking at Brendan with his lids drawn low.

“I thought I was wrong about you,” he pants, “After that first time.  I thought I was wrong and you were gonna kill me for it.”

“You should count yourself lucky I didn’t anyway.”

“You’re not exactly subtle, are you?” Ste says.  “You’d always be in a huff about me taking on clients.”

“Steven, is this going somewhere?” Brendan snaps.

Ste groans.  “Just yes or no, alright, do you want to sleep with me or not?”

“Yes,” Brendan says matter-of-factly, knocking back another drink.

“Then…”  Ste seems hesitant to continue, “Then why haven’t you?”

“My dad was a dumb son of a bitch,” Brendan says, and Ste looks puzzled, “But if he ever taught me anything valuable, it’s to never stick your dick in crazy.”

Ste’s puzzlement gives way to anger.  “I’m the crazy one now?"

“You’re a whore and a junkie,” Brendan rationalizes.  “Gotta be pretty crazy after all that.”

Ste gets off the couch and marches over to where Brendan is standing.  “You want crazy?  Look in a mirror, alright.  You’ve got crazy coming off of you without even _touching_ a needle, and _everybody_ knows it.”

“Then riddle me this, Steven,” Brendan pushes into Ste’s space until their foreheads are knocking together, but Ste won’t stand down, “Why are you so _gagging_ for it if I’m such a nutter?”

“Cause you and me are the same, aren’t we?” Ste asks.

“No, we’re not,” Brendan shakes his head, “We’re _not_.”

Ste laughs with absolutely no humor.  “Maybe you’re right.  After all, I’m not scared to make a move, am I?”

“Because that’s your _job_ ,” Brendan bites, “You fuck people for a living.  You’d make a move on anything with a couple of notes to throw at you.”

“Yeah, and you still wanna fuck me,” Ste says, “So it looks like we’re back where we started.”

Brendan sucks in a deep breath to ground himself before cupping Ste’s face with his hands.  To Ste’s credit, he doesn’t back down.  He doesn’t even look afraid, he just keeps staring into Brendan’s eyes unwaveringly as Brendan traces those full lips with his thumbs.

“You,” he breathes, “Are _filth_.”

Then he kisses Ste.  It’s a quick kiss.  Testing the waters, so to speak.  Ste looks confused after it, like he was expecting something totally different after their argument.  The next kiss is more up to speed.  It’s not long before Ste is sinking his teeth into Brendan’s bottom lip and Brendan is grabbing handfuls of Ste’s ass.

“Here,” Ste pulls back a fraction to dig into his back pocket.  He pulls out his wallet and brandishes a handful of condoms in Brendan’s face.  There’s probably more condoms than cash in there. “ _Now_ will you finally fuck me?”

Brendan stares at the condoms.  “You’re just carrying all those around?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Ste says.  “What kind of whore do you take me for?”

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

Ste rolls his eyes.  “Story of my life, that.”

“Gimme,” Brendan grabs a condom and waves it in front of Ste's nose.  “Might be a bit small for me, don’t you think?”

“How would I know?” Ste sneers.  “You never let me see it.”

“I guess we’ll have to make it work,” Brendan says.  He pushes at Ste’s chest, and keeps pushing until they hit one of the couches.  The wallet tumbles to the floor, forgotten.  Then it’s a solid shove that sends Ste sprawling back onto his elbows with an _umph_.

“Jacket off,” Brendan says, peeling his own blazer off.  “In fact, all of it can go.”

“You’re awful bossy,” Ste pouts, but he complies anyway.

“That’s because I _am_ the boss, Steven,” Brendan says.

“Shut up,” Ste kicks Brendan lightly.  Brendan grabs the offending foot and slots between Ste’s legs.

“Quit wriggling,” Brendan grunts as he tugs Ste’s trousers off.  The briefs Brendan found him in come into view, and Brendan makes a note to buy Ste something nicer.  Something tight and black that hugs his ass.

“Wait, don’t toss, those,” Ste reaches out for the trousers Brendan is really to throw. He digs around in the pockets for something before groaning in disappointment.  “Ugh, gimme the jacket.”  
  
Brendan hands it too him, and Ste makes a triumphant noise when he pulls out a few packets of lube.  They look like the cheap kind you can swipe for free at a clinic.  Brendan whistles.  “You’re prepared for anything, ain’tcha?”

Ste grins.  “Too right, I am.”

“I’ll tell you what, Steven,” Brendan says as he peels Ste’s boxers off, “I ever get you alone in a bed, we’re gonna do this right.”

“Really?” Ste asks, moaning a bit as Brendan leans down to mouth at Ste’s neck.  Ste is all moans, now.  

"I promise," Brendan wraps a hand around his cock and soaks in the heat of it in his palm.  He’s waited so long to allow himself to do it, and he probably really _shouldn’t_ be doing it anyway, but screw it.   He jerks Ste steadily, smearing around the precome and getting him nice and wet.  Ste seems content to just lie down with his bottom lip between his teeth while Brendan learns what makes him purr.  And purr he does.  Maybe Ste _is_ being genuine with Brendan.

If he isn’t, Brendan will just have to pretend.

Ste is making it easy for him with the way his hips are jerking and rolling up into Brendan’s hand.  Brendan gives his own cock a squeeze through his trousers in an attempt to get it to calm down a minute.  Under different circumstances, he’d be fucking Ste by now.  He’s waited too long for this.  But this is a fragile arrangement, and he doesn’t know if this is even going to happen again.

He’s going to make this count.

“Give that here,” Brendan says, snatching one of the packets of lube from Ste’s hand and hoping they have enough.

“You finally gonna fuck me?” Ste asks, spreading his legs as wide as he can as Brendan gently presses his thumb against Ste’s hole.  It sinks in the slightest bit, and Brendan feels anger flare inside of him at the feeling of the residual wetness from Ste’s earlier encounter.

“Do you usually get off?” Brendan asks, covering his fingers in lube and circling them around Ste’s hole.

Ste starts to rotate his hips.  “Huh?”

“When you’re fucking people for money,” Brendan starts to push a finger in, watching Ste’s face for every single twitch and grimace, “Do you get off on it.”

“Sometimes,” Ste hums as Brendan starts to steadily fuck him with his fingers.

“That right?” Brendan draws Ste into a kiss and scissors his fingers, stretching Ste wide.

“ _Bren_ ,” Ste whimpers against his lips, and Brendan feels a trickle of satisfaction.  How many of Ste’s johns get nicknames?

“This should be nothing for you,” Brendan says, and Ste shoves his shoulder.

“Piss off.”

Brendan tuts.  “The mouth on you.”

“Maybe if you’d get a move on,” Ste scowls. “Didn’t even suck my dick.”

“I know where that dick has been,” Brendan says, “And it’s not going near my mouth until you have a bath.”

“Ah,” Ste moans.  “I’d love a bath right now, me.”

“Uh-uh,” Brendan drags his fingers out of Ste.  “We’re _busy_ right now.”

“Later then,” Ste says, sitting up on his elbows and eyeing the front of Brendan’s trousers.  Brendan hastily tugs them down to his thighs, not bothering to do anything with his shirt, and gives his cock a few steady strokes.  Ste just watches as he bites his lip with flushed cheeks and dark eyes.

Brendan raises his eyebrows.  “Still sure that condom’s gonna fit?”

“Shut up,” Ste says.  Brendan gets the condom on with exaggerated difficulty, earning an eye-roll out of Ste.  He’s about to push in when Ste stops him.

“Wait,” he mutters, and drags Brendan down into a kiss.  It’s long and surprisingly slow and dirty in a way Ste seems to pride himself on.  Brendan wonders if it means something, because it _feels_ like it means something.  When he pulls out, Ste keeps him close with a hand on the back of his neck.

Well alright then.  

Brendan pushes in, forcing a small gasp out of Ste.  As awful a thought as it is, Brendan can’t help but note that Ste is tighter than expected.  Not that he’s complaining, it feels amazing.  Ste drags his legs up the sides of Brendan’s body, and Brendan regrets not taking his shirt off.

He’s not taking the time to do it now, though.  Once he bottoms out, he drags back out and thrusts back in hard.  Another one of those sweet noises tumbles out of Ste on each thrust, and Brendan soaks them in until he’s drunk off them.  He builds up a rhythm based on what gets the best sounds out of Ste until Ste is arching off of the sofa and gasping against Brendan’s mouth.

“Move,” Brendan pants as he comes to a stop, “We’re gonna tumble off the sofa.”

“That’s fine,” Ste pants.  “Just fuck me on the floor.”

Brendan huffs out a surprised laugh.  “You’ll be sorry later if we do that.  Here, come up here.”

Ste grunts as Brendan manhandles him until his sitting astride Brendan’s lap on the couch, cock still buried inside of him.  Brendan is sitting on the couch with his legs spread wide and his hands covering Ste’s skinny hips.

“Now I’m gonna have to do all the work,” Ste whines, looping his arms around Brendan’s neck and sucking at his jaw.

“I think you’ll manage,” Brendan says, and gives an encouraging upward thrust.  Ste gets with the program quickly.  He bounces in Brendan’s lap with enough enthusiasm that anyone would think he does this for a living.

Brendan manages to bite his tongue until Ste’s thighs are shaking and his pace is slowing.

“Problem?” he teases.

“My thighs are killing me,” Ste says.  Brendan is ready to suggest moving again when Ste starts grinding in Brendan’s lap.  Not bouncing or thrusting, just circling his hips like he’s scratching an itch.  It feels perfect, like for once Ste is using someone else to get his pleasure.  Brendan is perfectly fine with sitting back and digging his fingernails into Ste’s hips while Ste fucks himself on Brendan’s cock.

Ste begins to falter when Brendan starts to jerk him off.  He murmurs Brendan’s name and ambushes him with a kiss, and Brendan grins when Ste starts to show difficulty keeping his hips moving in time with Brendan’s hand.  Before long, Ste is draped nearly flush over Brendan’s body, fingers fisting in his shirt and hips jerking just enough to get friction on both ends.  He eventually just pulls off of Brendan’s cock altogether, and tries to distract Brendan with a kiss.

Brendan’s free hand wanders to Ste’s backside.  He grabs a handful of his arse before slipping his fingers up into Ste’s wet hole.  They move easily in and out of him with a wet sound that compliments the moans coming out of Ste’s mouth.

“Your skinny thighs recovered yet?” Brendan asks, and Ste pouts.

“Don’t think so,” he says.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to do this,” Brendan says, and tosses Ste back down on his back.  Ste’s surprised yelp turns into a gasp when Brendan pushes his cock back in.  They wind up in the same position they started in, but this time they’re staying upright because of Ste’s death grip on the sofa.

Brendan wants to hold out for as long as he can.  He wants to file every second of this away in the back of his mind so he can replay it the next time Ste disappears.  It’ll give him something to think about other than bloody noses and a stranger’s cock.  He wants so badly for Ste to break down and submit to him, to promise he won’t fuck off every other day to sell himself.

Brendan's not sure that will ever happen, though.

But, Christ, with Ste beneath him moaning out his name, it’s getting hard to hold on.  Ste has given way to something more primal than when they started.  His face is red and his eyes are closed and his moans are much rougher now.  They sound like they’re coming from somewhere inside of him that’s rarely tapped, and when he grits out Brendan’s name in that voice, Brendan loses it.

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts, and Ste instinctively arches his back.

“Uh-huh,” he pants, head thrown back.

Brendan nearly laughs.  “Wasn’t asking for permission.”

“So, you gonna do it, or what?” Ste asks, and drags Brendan down to kiss him.  Though calling it a _kiss_ is being generous.  Ste practically tongue-fucks Brendan as he rocks through his orgasm.

A silted gasp and drawn out groan later, and the condom is filled.  Gently, Brendan pulls out of Ste and just lets himself breathe.

“Please don’t squish me,” Ste says, pushing at Brendan’s shoulders.  Brendan grins.

“Can’t promise anything,” he takes hold of Ste’s cock, “But I there’s one more thing I have to take care of here.”

“Mm,” Ste groans, “Please do.”

“Aww,” Brendan croons, “So polite.”

Then he breaks the _don’t give Steven head until he’s had a bath_ rule by, you guessed it, giving Steven head.  Ste clearly wasn’t expecting it judging by his gasp. Brendan pulls off and grins up at Ste while stroking him off quickly.  He kisses along his cock and sucks at the underside of it until Ste comes all over his own stomach with a ragged moan.

Reality immediately sinks its fangs into Brendan when he notes that they just fucked in the club on one of the sofas.  These are _nice_ sofas, and now they’re probably all covered in body fluids.  Ste doesn’t seem to inclined to do much about that from where he’s dazedly gazing up at the ceiling with a content look about him.

“Christ, hang on,” Brendan tugs his pants back up and walks into the office to bin the condom and look for a towel or something.  He’d rather not use one of the bar rags or the scratchy bathroom towels.  He hears Ste walking up behind him, and turns to see him standing in the doorway in just his briefs and socks.  

There’s still come drying on his stomach and his eye are dim again.  Brendan suddenly feels like shit, like he just used Ste like everyone else has been for the last however many months.  Then Ste says something that shatters him.

“Can I –” he starts, “Are you going to give me some?  I don’t need much right now, just - you know.  Enough.”

Brendan’s heart sinks.  He should have expected this.  To Ste, this was a transaction.  He wonders, briefly, when Ste last fucked anybody without expecting something in return.

Although Brendan has half a mind to shove him away and make it clear he’s not just another number in a long list of johns, he caves.  Ste makes him weak in ways he hates himself for.  So, fuck it.  He doesn’t want to be like the guy who paid Ste with a smack, so he gets up and unlocks the safe so he can give Ste what he’s due.

To his surprise, Ste tears open the package right _there_.

Brendan watches the entire process in impassive silence.  He’d call it apathy if he wasn’t aching in a way he’s not used to.  Ste gets everything ready, forming neat lines of it on Brendan’s fucking _desk_ , Jesus.  That alone should be enough for Brendan to whoop his ass, but Brendan does nothing but watch as Ste neatly snorts the line in a way that looks all too familiar to him.

Ste falls back heavily against the office wall and wipes at his nose.  “I’m glad I didn’t know you years ago.  You’d have ruined me.”

“Yeah,” Brendan says, “Good thing you beat me to the punch.”

Ste turns his head to look at Brendan, and Brendan leaves.  He doesn’t want to see himself reflected in those full-moon pupils.  He’s so ugly, he can’t stand it.


	6. Chapter 6

The couch in the club is more comfortable than the couch in the flat.  Brendan learns that when he decides it would be stupid to take Ste back to the flat when he’s up on coke and talking a mile a minute, and it would also be stupid to return empty-handed to three angry people who are expecting a Steven Hay.

A quick text is shot off to Lynsey, _Found our friend Steven, he’s in bad shape but alive.  Staying with him in the club tonite BB xx_.  Simple and to the point.  She’s a smart girl, she’ll understand it.

Brendan spends most of the night trying to reconcile with the fact that he basically hired a whore by accident.  On the other hand, Ste spends most of the night pacing around the club with jittery hands trying to reposition all of the furniture.  Needless to say, neither of them gets much sleep.  Thank god it’s a weekday and the club shouldn’t bee too busy tomorrow.  Or today, whatever it is.

When they finally get back, Cheryl insists that Ste should take the night off from the club.  Brendan doesn’t argue, an evening away from Ste to clear his head is just what he needs.

Staying away from him forever is impossible, though.  Ste corners him against the kitchen counter the next morning at about ten. Well, _corner_ might be a strong word.  He just stands next to Brendan in borrowed pajama pants and nothing else. It’s impressive, in a way, how he manages to take up so much space by fixing his face in a dirty grin and leaning against Brendan’s side.

Brendan knows exactly what he’s after, and he’s not getting it.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Maybe,” Ste says, and that crooked smile is still sitting pretty on his face.

“Might want to put some clothes on,” Brendan says.  “Lyns and Declan will be back soon, don’t want to offend their delicate sensibilities.”

“Funny, that,” Ste says, “You telling me to put clothes on.  Thought you’d say the opposite after how we were last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brendan deadpans.  “You sure were touchy-feely.”

Ste’s grin turns cheeky.  “I don’t get like that with – you know.  My clients.”

“You mean johns,” Brendan says.  “Those guys you roll over for to get your fix.”

Ste’s expression falls.  “Whatever you want to call it.  Point is –”

“People just like me.”

Ste stops in his tracks.  “What?”

“I’m not selling to you anymore,” Brendan says.  “I’m not giving you coke, period.  Get it from somewhere else, just not from me.”

“You’re joking,” Ste says, flirtatious posture gone, but Brendan’s face doesn’t waver.

“You’re more messed up than I bargained for,” Brendan says.  “And I’m not going to encourage that, especially not when you _use_ me for drugs.”

“Use you?”

“Yes,” Brendan slams a hand down on the counter and Ste jumps.  “You used me for drugs.  And you got them, so sod off.”

“I don’t understand,” Ste backs away slightly.  “If you wanted it, then why –”

“I only want it if I’m the only one who’s going to get it,” Brendan grits out.  “I don’t fuck whores.”

“I hadn’t slept with anyone but you since I started working back at Chez Chez,” Ste argues "Not till you told me to sod off, at least.".

“You _sold_ yourself to me.” Brendan shoves Ste away.  “That’s exactly what whores _do_.”

Brendan starts to walk off, but Ste grabs him before he can make it to the stairs.  “Alright, I get it.  Asking for drugs after we fucked got you bare angry, but I promise I’m not selling myself anymore if I can work at the club.”

“That’s not the point,” Brendan huffs.  “If I can’t have you to myself, I won’t have you at all.”

“You don’t own me any more than those assholes at Danny’s,” Ste hisses.  That’s always how it’s going to be with Ste.  He isn’t the owned type.  That doesn’t mean Brendan isn’t going to fight for it, though.

“I want you, Steven,” he rumbles, “And I don’t like to share the things I want.”

“Oh, what,” Ste huffs out a laugh in Brendan’s face, “You fuck me once and suddenly you’re in love with me?”

“I’m not,” Brendan swallows around his heart where it’s trying to crawl up his throat, “I’m not in love –”

“No,” Ste shakes his head.  “You really aren’t.  Because you _can’t_ love.  People like you don’t know anything like love.”

Brendan twitches a mimicry of a smile.  “You don’t know how right you are, Steven.”

“Yeah, I do,” Ste says, “Because I’ve been watching it happen for months.”

“Then why are you still here?” Brendan asks.  “After all, don’t you have other dealers?”

Ste’s lip curls.  Brendan loves it when he gets like this, all snarling and angry.  “Maybe I don’t want you for drugs.  Maybe I want you for something else.”

“Oh?” Brendan’s eyebrows shoot up as he cocks his head to the side.  They’ve come full circle now.  Brendan can’t tell if they’re arguing or flirting.

“Don’t get too excited,” Ste deadpans.  “I’m a whore, remember?  My standards aren’t exactly high, are they?”

Brendan’s mouth falls open, and not a word comes out.  Ste grins with his tongue between his teeth.  He looks so damn _smug_.

“Get that fucking smile off your face,” Brendan mutters, and he moves in to kiss it away.  Something stops him, though.  There’s a noose around his neck that tightens the closer he gets to Ste.

Instead of kissing him, Brendan just drags his fingertips down Ste’s face and sighs.  The aim was to get Ste hooked on him, not the other way around.

“Go on,” Ste whispers.  His breath is cold against Brendan’s mouth in the way everything is this early in the morning. “Unless you’re too scared.”

That does it.  Brendan cups Ste’s face and drags him into a kiss.  Ste reacts immediately, clinging to Brendan with the sort of desperation that Brendan is feeling.  They’re both hurting in ways the other just can’t heal, but that’s not going to stop them from pretending this can work.  Brendan drags his nails down Ste’s back and under his waistband like he can’t get enough of the skin below his palms.

A noise cuts through the silence of the flat.  Brendan acknowledges the click of the door a second too late, and he and Ste are too tightly wrapped around each other to pull back in time.

“Dad?”

Brendan shoves Ste off of him and looks at where Declan is staring with wide eyes.  Behind him, Lynsey is standing ramrod straight with her hands over her mouth.

“Jesus, this uh,” Brendan runs his hand across his mouth.  “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Nobody is convinced.  Lynsey is blushing at this point, Declan’s eyebrows are so drawn they’re practically touching, and Ste is bounding his half-naked self upstairs and away from the two sets of eyes trying to work out what they saw.

Brendan considers following him.

“I can explain,” Brendan says, and Christ, the cliches are just flowing this morning.  Declan just nods his head slowly, and Lynsey finally walks forward.

“You know,” she says, patting Brendan on the arm, “Something like that _really_ doesn’t need explaining.”

“Dad, are you –”  Declan stars, and Brendan cuts him off before the word _gay_ can tumble out of his mouth.

“ _No_ ,” Brendan scrambles for the right word.  “That wasn’t anything.  It was all on Steven.”

Lynsey’s face transforms from cautiously amused, probably even _mocking_ , to confused and forlorn.  She’s about to open her mouth when footsteps on the stairs steal her attention.  Brendan runs a shaking hand through his hair and Lynsey plasters a knowing look on her face.

“Uh, Declan,” she says, “Lets give these two some space, come on.”

 _No_ , Brendan wants to scream, _don’t you dare_.  But Declan reluctantly follows her upstairs, and soon Brendan is alone again with Ste.

Thankfully, Ste has clothes on now.  That ratty backpack he used to smuggle drugs out of the club is slung over his shoulder.  Brendan can tell by the way it’s bulging that it’s full of clothes.  Probably _all_ of Ste’s clothes.

Brendan’s stomach sinks.

“I should go,” Ste says, and he looks guilty.  “I know how you, uh, _are_.  Me being here is just going to make it worse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ste shakes his head.  “You’re afraid of them finding out, alright, I get that.  But I don’t want to be apart of it.  Make up all the lies you want.  Tell them it was my idea, that you didn’t want it, just leave me out of it.”

Ste makes a move to open the front door, but Brendan shoves it closed before he can get out.  “Steven just – I don’t want you to leave.”

Ste looks up at Brendan with something like hope in his eyes.

“I want,” Brendan falters.  I want you.  I want you to stay here with me.  I want you to stop doing drugs and getting fucked and ruining your life.  I want to be able to tell everyone that this is who I am.  And then I want to carry you upstairs and fuck you in my bed and lie around with you for hours while you talk about stupid shit and laugh like a donkey, because that became endearing somewhere along the line.  I want to be normal.  I want to be able to love and be loved by you and Cheryl and Declan and Lynsey without the guilt and lies that have been following me for as long as I have breathed.

God help him.

He can’t say any of this.  So instead he says, “They might not believe me if you don’t tell them, too,” and watches the light fade from Ste’s eyes.

“Goodbye, Brendan,” Ste says, and yanks the door open.  It slams shut like an exclamation point punctuating their fucked up relationship.

Brendan walks over to the couch and sits down stiffly.  He sinks into the cushions and thinks _, why am I the way I am?_

He make himself sick.

The sound of the door slamming must have alerted Lynsey and Declan.  They tentatively creep downstairs, and Brendan doesn’t even bother acknowledging them.  His brain is fried.

“Where’s Ste off to?” Lynsey asks.

“He’s leaving.”

“ _What_?” Lynsey and Declan say in unison.  Brendan grimaces as Lynsey adds, “Why?”

“Didn’t have the chance to ask,” Brendan lies.

“Well go after him!” she says.  “He doesn’t have to be put out over something silly like this.”

 _Silly_.

Sure, that’s one way to say it.

Brendan doesn’t think he’ll be able to meet Lynsey or Declan’s eyes right now, so he goes out after Ste at her urging.  Anything to get away from the unreadable set of Declan’s face.

Ste hasn’t gotten far.  He’s walking slowly and hunched over like he’s trying to disappear.  When Brendan calls his name, he doesn’t stop.

“I’m talking to you,” Brendan says, and Ste just keeps going.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Ste says.  “I’ve given you enough trouble.”

“Where are you even going?” Brendan manages to cut in front of Ste.  “You’ve been living on my sofa for a while.”

“Back to where I was before,” Ste says, and tries to shoulder past. "I don't need you."

Brendan stops him.  “You really think that’s the best way to support your kids?”

Ste huffs.  “Been sending them money for close to a year now, haven’t I?”

“It’s gonna be longer if you go running back into Danny’s arms,” Brendan points out.

“Maybe I won’t go back to Danny,” Ste says.  “Maybe I’ll try my luck on my own.”

Brendan almost laughs.  “It’ll never work.”

“Probably not,” Ste admits.  He turns to look Brendan in the eye and says, “You look out for your Declan, alright?”

And then he’s gone, walking past a speechless and anxious Brendan like that’s that.  In the space of a second, Brendan has lost a customer, a barman, and a… A fuckbuddy, he supposes.  Not a friend, and _certainly_ not a boyfriend.

Brendan purposely gets lost on the way back to the flat.  To say he’s in shock is an understatement.  He can feel his brain trying to shut down in an attempt to reject reality.  It’s a sensation he’s not at all unfamiliar with.

Eventually, there are no more back streets and sidewalks left to explore.  Brendan winds up standing in front of the flat feeling like he deserves this.  The door handle burns his hand as he turns it and walks inside.  Lynsey is in the kitchen with her back to the door.  She turns around at the click of the door closing, and her face is unreadable.  It darkens the closer Brendan moves to her.

“Brendan,” Lynsey says sternly, “Where is Ste?”

“Gone,” Brendan says.  “And not coming back.”

She looks away.  “Delcan is upstairs.  You should probably talk to him.”

He doesn’t want to, he _really_ doesn’t want to.  But he nods anyway and begins a slow ascent up the stairs.  He finds Declan sitting on his bed with his phone in his hands.

“Hey,” Brendan says, trying to be casual.

Delcan looks up and nods.  “Hey.”

Brendan clears his throat.  “What you saw –”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s _not_ ,” Brendan bites.

Declan looks hurt.  “Da, I don’t care if you’re gay.”

“I’m not.”

“I just want you to tell me the truth,” Declan says.  “That’s all.”

“I’m _not_.”

Declan doesn’t say anything, but his eyes tell Brendan enough.  When Cheryl gets home a few hours later, she’s thankfully oblivious to the tight atmosphere for a while.  She catches on, though, and asks the question that feels like a brick to the head:

“Where’s Ste?”

Lynsey looks and Brendan like she’s asking for permission.  Brendan shakes his head.  Declan sighs.

“He left,” Brendan says.  “For good, this time.”

Cheryl gets the same look about her as Lynsey.  “Well, I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing _to_ understand,” Brendan bites out.  “He left because of the kind of person he is.”

Delcan scoffs and gets up.  He’s halfway to the door before Brendan calls after him.

“Where are you off to?”

“A movie,” is all he says as he jams his feet into his shoes.

“Don’t you go looking for Steven,” Brendan warns, and Declan pointedly keeps his attention anywhere but Brendan as he stomps out of the flat in a way not much different from Ste’s earlier exit.

“Okay,” Cheryl crosses her arms, “There is clearly something else going on here, and I want to know what it is.”

“Chez, don’t worry,” Lynsey tries to be the peacekeeper, but Brendan has to go and cock everything up farther.

“He put himself out because he’s queer.”

“Brendan,” Lynsey sighs.

“That’s never bothered us before,” Cheryl looks confused.  Brendan _feels_ confused.

He fixes her with a hard look.  “You knew?"

“Course,” Cheryl says, like it’s nothing.  “Why do you think he left that little lady of his?”

“Did you know?” Brendan asks Lynsey.

She shrugs.  “I suppose it makes sense.  Never thought about it much.”

“Oh, that’s just _great_ ,” Brendan huffs.  He storms upstairs, well aware of the exasperated looks Cheryl and Lynsey are sporting.  There’s a hurricane banging off in his head that’s threatening to leave his body and tear into everyone around him.

Declan comes back in the evening, right before Brendan is about to head off to the club.  He stands in the threshold of the bathroom while Brendan tries to get his hair to behave.

“Called mom,” he says.  He won’t meet Brendan’s eye, not even in the reflection of the mirror.  “She ordered a cab.  I’m gonna head out tomorrow morning.  I was gonna have to leave soon, anyway.”

Brendan tries to steady himself with a breath, but it comes out ragged.  “Is this because of what Steven did?”

“It’s not Ste’s fault, dad,” Declan sounds angry now.  “It’s just that I don’t think me being here is helping right now.”

“What are you talking about?” Brendan says.  “I never see you, I love having you here.”

“Dad,” Declan puts a hand out and shakes his head, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Brendan huffs a humorless laugh.  “There are too many things I can’t tell you, but that’s not because of you.  It’s because they’re things nobody needs to know.”

Declan sighs and sinks against the doorway.  “I’ll listen if you want to talk, dad.  But if you’re not gonna talk, there’s nothing I can do.”

And with that, he walks away.  Brendan manages to keep from sweeping everything off of the bathroom sink in a rage only because of Declan’s presence in the house.  The club’s office doesn’t fare so well, though.

In the morning, Declan has his clothes in his duffle bag before Brendan even wakes up.  When the cab pulls in, Cheryl drags him into a hug and tells him to come back soon.  He doesn’t hug Brendan, though.  He offers his hand, and Brendan shakes it.

Declan’s grip is firm and his mouth is set in a line.  This is for the best.

The cab pulls away, and Declan is gone.  Ste is gone.  Lynsey is upset.  Cheryl is hardly on speaking terms with him.

There is a certain feeling of validation that courses through Brendan as he stands in the wreckage of his life knowing that things have gone as poorly as expected now that people know.  He feels like he was right to hide it away all those years.  He feels like he has to hide it away now.

-

Whiskey burns like hellfire licking it’s way through his insides.  He downs drinks until the stars are falling by the hundreds, burying him in dust and ashes.  He thinks of swallowing a lit matchbook to taste the sulfur and feel the whiskey burn for days.

He wonders if this is what Ste feels like, and he drinks more.

Cheryl nicks the bottle before he can down it one night, saying plainly, “I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’ve hardly had any,” he says.

She sits down opposite him at the table.  “Still enough.”

“You don’t know anything about _enough_ ,” Brendan presses his palms into his eyes just to see the spots.

“You know, I talked to Lynsey,” she says.  Her voice is surprisingly soft.

“Of course you did,” Brendan sighs.  “You two can’t keep your mouths shut.”

“You’re being a prick, Bren,” Cheryl says, and _now_ she sounds angry, fantastic.

“Watch your mouth, baby sis,” Brendan sneers.

“Don’t you patronize me,” she points at him, sticking one of those talons of hers in his face.  “Ste is hurting, and you don’t even care!”

“He’s not the only one!” Brendan barks.  Cheryl withdraws her finger immediately.  Her face reads pure shock.

“B-Bren,” she stutters, but he doesn’t want to hear it.

Brendan shoves backwards, his response in the hideous scraping of the chair legs against the floor.  Cheryl grimaces and stands up like she’s going to chase him down.

“Brendan, please,” she calls after him, “Will you just _talk_ to me?”

“There is _nothing_ to talk about!”

“Well, then why are you acting like this?”

“Because,” he spins and turns to look at her, “I had a whore shove his tongue down my throat in my own goddamn flat!”

“Oh, god,” Cheryl rolls her eyes.  “ _Whore_ this, _queer_ that, would you give the boy a break, Bren?”

Brendan drags his hand across his mouth in exasperation.  “No, Chez, you don’t get it.  He’s a whore, a literal whore, a _pro-sti-tute_.”

Cheryl scoffs.  “I don’t know where you pulled that little bit of information out of, but just because Ste is in a bad place doesn’t mean he’d do _that_.”

“He tried to get me to sleep with him for drugs money,” Brendan says, “That’s the definition of a prostitute.”

“Oh my god,” Cheryl presses her fingers to her temples.  This is what Brendan was afraid of.  “Is that what he was trying to do?”

 _I need it_ echoes through Brendan’s mind, accompanying the image of those desperate eyes and those jittery fingers.  He bites at the inside of his lip and looks away from Cheryl.  “Yeah.”

“He needs more help than I thought,” Cheryl says.

“You don’t say,” Brendan grabs his jacket and walks to the door.

Cheryl calls after him, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the club,” he grunts, “Where we have plenty more whiskey.”

He slams the door and feels satisfaction wash over him when no footsteps chase him into the night.

-

Brendan gets a whole ten minutes of drowning his sorrows and wondering why he turned out so _wrong_ before the planets move into alignment and ruin his entire night.  Three words stop his hart and kickstart his stomach.  If he pukes this booze up in anxiety, he’s going to kill a certain ex-ex-barman.

_Incoming call: Steven._

Motherfucker.

Brendan almost ignores it.  Call him childish, but he feels like Ste deserves nothing left after what he’s inadvertently caused.  He’s probably just looking for a fix, anyway, and Brendan can’t bring himself to give Ste drugs again.  But the phone rings and rings and rings and _Christ_ , this boy doesn’t give up.  With a sigh, Brendan accepts the call and grunts into the receiver, “What do you want?”

It’s quiet for a minute.  Brendan is torn between telling Ste to cut the shit and going into full panic mode.  Something is very wrong, and Brendan can practically feel it reaching out to him over the phone.

“Brendan?” Ste finally says, and he sounds strangely far away.

“Yes, Steven,” Brendan sighs.  “Why are you calling me?”

Silence again, stretching into unease and fear.  Then Ste says something Brendan never thought he would hear: “I need you.”

Brendan laughs into the receiver.  “That’s rich.”

“I’m serious, alright,” Ste says, “I did something really bad.”

“How bad are we talking?”

Again, Ste hesitates.  “There’s so much blood.”

Brendan shoots up out of his chair.  “What?”

“And I think –” Ste drags in a ragged breath.  “I think he’s still alive.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brendan tries to get his own head on straight, “Who is still alive?  Steven, what did you do?”

“He tried to hurt me and I,” Ste laughs, actually _laughs_ , “I didn’t take it too well, I suppose.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Brendan breathes.  “Okay, Steven, you’re gonna have to tell me where you are.”

“I’m, uh,” Ste pauses like he can’t remember.  “You know that place you found me before?”

“Not really,” Brendan says, “But keep talking, I'll try to find it again.”

“I’m around there,” Ste says.  “Please don’t be mad.”

“Too late,” Brendan mutters, just to sound hard, and hangs up the phone.  He pulls on his jacket – the leather one that Ste nicked for a few weeks – and heads out of the club.

He hardly put a dent in the whiskey, _goddamit_.

-

The shadows stretch farther in this shitty little corner of town than anywhere else on Earth.  Brendan blends in with them a little bit too well.

He has to call Ste three times before the little bastard picks up.  Brendan wants to tear into him for nearly giving him a heart attack, but he doesn’t get the chance.  Ste is babbling in his ear, trying to direct him through hazy memories and a panic attack.  Brendan hangs up when he hears a familiar commotion on Ste’s end.  Sounds like a club or a bar. Broken glass crunches under Brendan’s foot as he walks down an alleyway and hears indistinct murmuring floating through a slightly ajar door that says EMPLOYEES in block lettering.

He pushes the door open and makes three prominent observations: he’s in some kind of stock room that looks like it’s connected to some scummy dive bar, there is a fresh spatter of blood on the floor connected to a man in a cheap black suit, and  Ste is shaking, eyes wide and hands slick with blood.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he breathes.  “Don’t let me do this anymore.”

“Hey,” Brendan puts his hand out in an attempt to calm Ste, “It’s alright, just –”

“It is _not_ alright, Brendan!” Ste barks, and he’s right.  There are tears in his eyes and blood on his cheek and he’s such a disaster.  Brendan crouches down as close as he thinks Ste will let him and tries to figure out what to do.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Brendan asks, choosing his words carefully.

“I weren’t pulling tonight,” Ste starts.  “But this guy wouldn’t give up.  He promised me all sorts – money and coke and heroin and when I said no, he just…”

Very gently, Brendan grasps Ste’s chin and turns his head to look him in the eye.  “Steven, did he force you to do anything?”

Ste swallows hard.  “He didn’t get the chance.  He dragged me back here, right, and shoved me down, and I snapped.  Grabbed the closest thing I could find and hit him as hard as I could.”

“What was it?”

Ste points at the hammer in the corner of the room.  “I hit him with it until he went down.  God, I hope I didn’t kill him.”

 _I hope you did,_  Brendan doesn’t say, because that wouldn’t help.  Instead, he gets up and moves closer to survey the body.

“He was making noises,” Ste says, and there are fat tears leaking down his cheeks.  “Like, in his throat.  He stopped before you got here.”

“Goddamn,” Brendan whistles, “You sure battered the sick bastard.”

“Do you think,” Ste swallows again, “Do you think I killed him?”

Brendan leans down close, close enough that he can’t smell anything but blood and the acrid breath of the man on his cheek.  “Not dead.”

“Oh, thank god,” Ste breathes, scrubbing at his wet face with his red hands.  Brendan isn’t sure what the protocol is here.  He inches closer to Ste as he tries to formulate something resembling a coherent plan.  This place is a dump, much worse than Chez Chez.  There’s no CCTV that Brendan can see, which means there’s no video evidence backing up or condemning Ste.

Then suddenly the door to the bar swings open, and Brendan feels his muscles freeze.  A skinny boy with sandy hair who can’t be older than Ste walks in and stops dead in his tracks when he sees two people crouched next to a seemingly dead body.

“What the hell is going on here?” he asks, and Brendan thanks God for the tremble in his voice.  This boy is no Super Man.

“Do you know this incapacitated gentleman?” Brendan asks conversationally, pointing at the bloke on the floor.

“No.”

“How about this little fella?” he asks, this time pointing at Ste.

“No,” the boy says again, shaking his head furiously.  “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m gonna call the cops.”

“No you’re not,” Brendan says, getting to his feet.  “Because this boy over here was acting in self defense.  What are you, a barman?”

The boy nods.  “Just tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

“Stop yipping, little doggy,” Brendan says.  “You call the coppers and they’re gonna search this place head to toe.  Not great for business.”

“Neither is a dead body!”

“He’s not dead yet,” Brendan says. “Which is a testament to my willpower.  Turns out, he’s not a very nice man.”

“Really?” the barman asks.  The _neither are you_ goes unspoken.

“In fact, had things gone according to plan, it would be fair to call him a rapist.”

“Whoa, whoa,” the barman looks like he’s about to run off.  “I just came here to shift some crates out front, I don’t want to deal with a fucking sexual assault!”

“So,” Brendan says, poking the barman in the chest, “Here’s what you’re going to do.  You can call for the police, tell them you have an unconscious rapist lying in your stockroom, give them a very general description of a tall man with a dashing moustache if they ask who did him over, and pray they don’t find probable cause to raid this place in the process.”

It’s the barman's turn to swallow uncomfortably.  “Or?”

“Or, you can help me drag his sorry arse into that there alleyway, make it look like he was on the losing end of a bar fight, and pray that my boy here concussed him enough that he doesn’t remember any important bits.”

“What if he dies out there?”

“He ain’t gonna,” Brendan grits out.

Ste has stood up by this point.  He still looks pale and shaken, but his grip on Brendan’s arm is strong when he says, “I’ll help.”

“No you won’t,” Brendan says, “Not until you clean all that blood off.”

“But I –”

“Hey skippy,” Brendan snaps his fingers at the barman, “You got an employee  bathroom for my friend here?”

The barman nods, and leads a tentative Ste out of the stock room.  Brendan rolls his sleeves up and gives the man on the floor a good look.  His face is pretty well done in, but he’ll live.  Probably.  It wouldn’t be surprising at all if he was concussed.

The barman comes back in and spreads his arms wide. “So, uh…”

“Ready to tastefully dispose of a live body, kiddo?” Brendan asks, and the barman goes pale again.

“Not really.”

“Well, too bad.”

They manage to pick him up in a way that doesn’t get either of them drenched in his blood.  Most of it is coming from his temple and his nose, anyway.  They drag him out into the alley and lie him on his side without much of a fuss.  Brendan gives him a solid kick in the ribs for good measure.

“Oh, and,” Brendan digs around in his pocket and pulls out a wad of notes, “Promise to keep this quiet?”

The barman eyes the money hungrily.  Everyone in this shithole is exactly the same.  “You bet, mate.”

“I’m not your mate,” Brendan deadpans.  “Here.”

He tosses the money and doesn’t bother to watch the barman scramble for it, because Ste steps into the alley.  His hands and face are clean, but his shirt is stained an ugly crimson.

“We’re gonna burn your clothes,” Brendan mutters, dragging Ste close to get a good look at him in the dim lighting.  “And we’re gonna toss the hammer.  This bloke isn’t gonna die, alright?”

Ste nods dazedly.  “I don’t wanna do this anymore, Bren.”

“Yeah, well,” Brendan pats him on the shoulder, “Wait here.”

He walks back into the stockroom.  The barman is standing in there counting out the cash Brendan gave him.  He doesn’t bat an eyelash when Brendan picks up the bloody hammer.

“You know how to get that blood out?” Brendan asks.

“Not the first time someone’s bled all over our floors, mate,” the barman says.

“Yeah, well,” Brendan grumbles, “Get on it.  And hurry!  You have  bar to tend.”

The barman gives him a disbelieving look as he turns and leaves.  Ste thankfully didn’t make a break for it while Brendan was inside.  “Can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Brendan says, “Lets go to the flat.”

Ste nods and wraps his arms around himself as they walk away.  He looks small in these shadows.  There’s a darkness around his eyes and a gauntness to his cheeks that reminds Brendan far too much of the time he battered Ste on the floor of the Chez Chez office.

A full-body tremor rocks Ste’s skinny body, and Brendan sighs.

He takes his coat off and throws it over Ste’s shoulders.  “Might as well keep the damn thing.”

Ste doesn’t say anything, but he does drag the coat tighter around himself.  Every few steps, they sway into each other’s space.  The stars are falling tonight, alright, and Brendan and Ste are among them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh spring semester starts next week which means updates might start to get a little wonky but I'll still try to have something up every week. Looks like this is going to have 12 or so chapters so we're about halfway there. Thanks so much to everyone who has stopped by to read this!

The flat is flooded with darkness when they arrive, thank God.  The last thing they need is Cheryl seeing Ste with blood all over his shirt.  Brendan sends Ste upstairs to his room while he fetches a garbage bag.

“Well,” he says as he walks into his bedroom, “Just in case that poor bloke bleeds to death – which, Jesus Ste, calm down, he won’t – we’re gonna want to get rid of your bloody clothes.”

“Do you think he’ll remember me?” Ste asks, rubbing his arms.  “Do you think he’ll press charges?”

“He won’t remember a thing,” Brendan says. “Now strip.”

“Right now?”

Brendan brandishes the garbage bag.  “Come on, I’ll find something else for you to wear.  But we want to get rid of those clothes, just in case.”

Ste shrugs the leather jacket off and starts to toss it into the bag, but Brendan pulls away before he can.

“Uh-uh,” he says, “Not that.”

Ste rolls his eyes.

“It’s a nice jacket!”

“Fine,” Ste says.  He sets the jacket aside and peels his shirt off.  There's hardly anything to him.  Just bones and bruises.

The shirt goes into the bag and the trousers come off.  Then Ste hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, and Brendan falters.

“Not sure that’s necessary, Steven,” he says.  Ste just gives him a hard look and tugs the briefs down and off.  They’re cast into the bag along with the rest of his clothes.

“I’ll just borrow some of yours,” he says, standing unashamedly naked in the middle of Brendan’s bedroom.  For once, there’s nothing seductive about him, no fluttering lashes or pouting lips with an offer practically written across them in gold. No, this is a Ste that has ceased to care.  He crosses his arms and bites the inside of his cheek as he frowns.  Brendan could probably count his ribs, but that doesn’t diminish the strength in his posture at all.  He looks proud and relatively unshaken, even after everything.

Brendan wants him, and that want tastes an awful lot like guilt on his tongue.

“Well, Steven,” he says, turning away.  “You’ve stolen enough of my clothes to know where you can find a pair of pants.  We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Where are you going?” Ste asks Brendan’s retreating back.

“Couch,” Brendan says.  Ste deserves the bed after… After what happened.

Ste surprises him, though, when he says, “Please don’t.”

Brendan cocks his head to the side.  “Please don’t what?”

Ste bites his lip and looks away.  “Couldn’t you just stay here?”

Brendan remains impassive.  “You’re joking.”

“Stupid idea,” Ste mutters, and crawls under the covers.

“Steven,” Brendan sighs, “I’ve been spending the last week trying to make it look like I’m _not_ gay.”

Ste peers up at Brendan, covers pulled up to his nose.  “But you are.”

Brendan scowls. “Appearances are everything.”

“So you admit it then,” Ste pushes his luck. “You’re gay.”

“Maybe I just like having a bloke every once in a while,” Brendan says. "Doesn't mean anything if I don't keep them around."

“Don’t see why it’s such a big deal to you,” Ste says.  “Everybody is gay anymore.”

“Yeah well,” Brendan turns away, “I ain’t.”

“Wrong door,” Ste calls, and Brendan turns to look at him again.  He nods his head toward the corner of the room and says, “Closet’s that way.”

Brendan huffs and smoothes his moustache down.  “You really want to test your luck again tonight?”

“I won’t have to if you stop acting like a prick.”

“Just because I don’t want to have a cuddle doesn’t mean I’m the bad guy here,” Brendan says.  “Are you forgetting I just saved your skinny arse again?”

Ste looks away at that.  He goes into full puppy mode, eyes wide and sad and bottom lip in a full pout.  It’s a look that simultaneously annoys and charms Brendan, and it reminds him of why Ste is so dangerous in the first place.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and pulls the covers back.  “Scoot.”

Ste turns his eyes back to Brendan.  “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Brendan says, sliding under the covers without bothering to get undressed first.  “Just don’t expect me to spoon with you.”

“Aww,” Ste groans.  “Here I was getting excited.”

“Well, don’t,” Brendan grunts, and leans over to switch off the bedside lamp.  The room shifts from a fuzzy yellow glow to the icy blue of the moonlight, and Brendan feels the change in his bones.  He lies on his back as still as possible, acutely aware of the way Ste is lying face down next to him.

It happens sooner than he expects it.  One of Ste’s hands inches close until it’s brushing his arm.  And then, with all the subtlety and stealth of a bear crashing into a glass coffee table, the hand snakes up under Brendan’s shirt.

 _"Steven_ ,” he warns, but Ste doesn’t stop.  His fingers drag through the hair on Brendan’s abdomen.  They shake slightly as they loop circles on the skin then move downwards until they hit the top of Brendan’s trousers.  They begin to dip below, and that’s enough.

Brendan catches Ste’s wrist and turns to look him straight in the eye.  “ _No_.”

“But I–” Ste starts, but Brendan doesn’t want to hear it.  He shoves the wrist away and turns his head so he's facing away from Ste.

Sleeping with Ste right now would be a bad idea.  Not just a normal bad idea, a monumentally bad idea.  An idea so bad that if Brendan went through with it, he’d probably have to book a flight for Ireland in the morning and be gone by sunset if he wanted to ever be able to look in the mirror again.  Ste’s so messed up he doesn’t know his own head right now.  If that’s not taking advantage, Brendan doesn’t know what is.

After a period of silence, Ste speaks up.  “I weren’t gonna do it because I want something else from you, you know that.  Not cause I feel like I owe you, either.”

“Right.”

“It’s cause I want to, alright?  I want to.”

Brendan rolls his head to the side to give Ste a hard look.

“Now’s not the best time,” he says.  “Don’t you think?”

Ste bites his lip and looks away.  He’s trying to get Brendan to slip up, but it’s not going to happen.  “How about a kiss, though?”

Brendan frowns.  “Just one?”

“Just one.”

“Alright,” Brendan sighs.  Ste is on him in a second, catching his upper lip and probably a fair bit of tashe as well.  That “one kiss” promise is broken quickly as it rolls into two and three and four kisses, all relatively chaste.  The first hint of Ste’s teeth, though, and Brendan is cutting it off.

“Umph,” he grunts, pushing Ste back a fraction.  “Okay, that’s enough.”

Ste doesn’t push it.  He just grins and lets his head drop down onto Brendan’s chest.

“What did I say about spooning?” Brendan gripes.

“Shut up,” Ste nestles his face into Brendan’s neck.  “Ain’t spooning, this.  Just a normal cuddle.”

“I don’t cuddle,” Brendan bites out, but he knows it’s useless.

“Well you’re not gay, either, and that don’t stop you from shoving your tongue down my throat.”

There’s a _fuck you, Steven_ hanging on the end of Brendan’s tongue that he doesn’t have the strength to push out.  So instead he sighs, and wraps an arm around Ste’s small body.  Ste clings to him with barely shaking hands like the only other alternative is a bloodstained floor with an unconscious rapist.  If that’s the case, then Brendan doesn’t mind being cuddled if it’s only for one night.

-

Brendan wakes up to a door slamming and a muffled _oh my god._

Cheryl found them.

Great.

“Steven, get up,” Brendan shakes his shoulders.  “Come on, I have to convince my baby sister I didn’t spend all night ravaging you."

He looks at the clock.  Almost noon.  This is the longest and deepest he’s slept for quite a while.  Cheryl’s probably popped over to the club, so he doesn’t have much to worry about on that front.  He can devote all his energy to the boy clinging to his side.  Good thing, too, because he’s going to need plenty of energy to pry Ste away and wake him up the whole way.

“Seriously,” he mutters, trying to disentangle himself from Ste’s arms, “Gotta get up.”

Ste groans and tries to tunnel his way under Brendan’s chin, but Brendan isn’t giving in to him.  He drags himself out of bed, shaking his heavy limbs and cursing himself for falling asleep with his clothes on.  Ste rolls over onto the warm spot Brendan vacated.  The action serves as a reminder that he fell asleep with absolutely _no_ clothes on.

This day is just getting better and better.

“Alright, there’s gotta be something in here that will fit you,” Brendan mutters, rooting through his wardrobe.  By the time he finds a t-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms, Ste has pushed up onto his elbows to blink dazedly at his surroundings.

“What time is it?” he mutters.

“Almost noon,” Brendan grunts.  He tosses Ste the clothes.  “Here, put these on.”

“These yours?” Ste asks, stretching the waistband of the trousers.

“Not like you left any clothes here last time you ran off,” Brendan says.  Ste drops the trousers and sighs.  In this light, Brendan can see that he’s got a black eye.  It’s hard to tell if he got it from the poor fellow who should be waking up in an alley right about now, or if it happened earlier.  Looks fresh, though.

“Come downstairs when you’re ready, we’ll get some ice on that eye of yours,” Brendan says.

“Brendan,” Ste beckons Brendan close to the bed.  Before Brendan can ask what he wants, he kneels up to steal a kiss.  Brendan lets it happen, even though he doesn’t understand it.

“What was that for?”

“Thank you,” is all Ste says before he gives Brendan another kiss and slinks off the bed.  “For staying last night, I mean.”

“Oh,” Brendan says.  “Yeah, whatever.”

“Hang on,” Ste scrambles into the clothing Brendan lent him faster than Brendan thought him capable right now.  “Okay, let’s go.”

They head downstairs together, Brendan leading Ste.  Soft voices welcome them, but cease as soon as the stairs creek.

“Ste!” Lynsey jumps up.  “Can I have a word?  In private?”

So much for a  _good morning_ or an _are you okay?_  Ste turns to look at Brendan with clear confusion etched into his features, and Brendan just shrugs.

“We won’t be a minute,” Lynsey says, dragging Ste upstairs and leaving Brendan downstairs with a stormy looking Cheryl.  He’s starting to wonder if they planned this.

“So.  You two were…” she clears her throat.  “Cozy.”

“Yeah, he uh,” Brendan sniffs to fill the space as he tries to pick the right words, “He ran into some trouble.  Didn’t feel safe alone.”

“Some drug trouble?” Cheryl asks, and something has clearly pissed her off.

Brendan grimaces.  “Kinda.”

Cheryl screws her mouth up in a frown.  “ _Prostitute_ trouble?”

Brendan drops his head into his hands and sighs.  “Sort of.”

“Brendan,” she closes her eyes and draws in a leveling breath, “Mind telling me why some young lad came sniffing around the club this morning looking for _drugs_?”

Brendan’s stomach plummets.  He forgot he had set up a meeting for this morning in all the excitement with Ste.  Nine times out of ten those skeevy bastards don’t even show up when Brendan tells them to.  Looks like ten percent isn’t bad odds at all, anymore.

“Clubs are, I dunno,” Brendan shrugs, “Hot spots for that kind of thing.  Just send people like that away.”

“He was asking for you!” Cheryl shrieks, and Brendan makes a note to wring that little shit's neck once he remembers his name.  “You’ve been dealing drugs in _my_ club?”

“No, Chez,” Brendan is desperate now, and that desperation is bleeding out in waves, “I swear, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Stop lying!” Cherly stomps.  “Please, just stop lying to me.  I’m your sister, you’re supposed to trust me, and I’m supposed to trust you.  You won’t even tell me what’s going on with you and Ste.”

“I’m not –” Brendan falters, “That was nothing.   _He_ is nothing, don't worry about it.”

“Lynsey and Declan walked in on you _kissing_ him!” she hisses the word like it’s dirty.  “I saw you in _bed_ with him!  Brendan, just admit it!”

“We didn’t do anything,” Brendan says, and he can’t even meet her eye anymore.  “Someone tried to hurt him and he was shaken up, that’s all.  I’m not, I’m _not_ –”

“You can’t even _say_ it,” Cheryl shakes her head.  

“Cause I ain't!” Brendan says, and his voice falters.  He used to be a great liar, before Ste happened to him.

Cheryl’s eyes are about ready to spring a leak.  The last thing Brendan needs is his sister falling apart in front of him.  “Cheryl, please trust me.”

“How can I?” she asks, and one fat teardrop plummets from her lashes.  “You won’t tell me the truth.  I don’t care if you’re gay, I really don’t.

“It’s sick,” Brendan sighs.

Cheryl is crying now, face full of tears.  “It’s not.”

“This is why I never said anything,” Brendan mutters, running a shaking hand across his forehead.

“I’m not mad at you because you’re gay,” Cheryl rages, “I’m mad at you because you never _tell_ me anything!  You’ve been doing all this shady stuff behind my back, and it’s killing Ste!”

“Ste’s not gonna die from some coke, Chez,” Brendan says.

“Listen to yourself!  Lynsey is amazed he hasn’t had a stroke yet!  She thinks he’s been into all sorts, and you’re encouraging it!”

“I only ever gave him coke,” Brendan says.  “I didn’t know about anything else.”

“Oh my god,” Cheryl buries her head in her hands.  Her makeup is a mess and her hair is falling into disarray and Brendan wants so badly to pull her into a hug.  He knows he’s not allowed, though.  He’s fucked up too bad.

Thankfully, Lynsey saves him when she bounds downstairs.  She gives Cheryl a soft look and Brendan a hard one.  He’s tired of being the bad guy here.

“So, uh,” Lynsey points her thumb up the stairs.  “I had a talk with Ste.  Got him to admit that he wants to stop using.  He’s not willing to go to rehab yet, but he wants help.”

“No use,” Brendan says, thankful that the subject isn’t on himself anymore.  “He’ll cave and go crawling back to one of his dealers before he goes cold turkey.”

“Oh shut your mouth, Brendan,” Cheryl snaps.

Brendan whips his head around to look at her.  “Chez–”

“Don’t you _Chez_ me,” she says.  “Ste needs help, so we’re going to give him help.”

“All I’m saying is that rehab doesn’t even work half the time! It’ll be a waste of money.”

“We need to get him to rehab,” she says.  “We owe it to him.   _You_ owe it to him.”

Brendan is about to bite something out, but Cheryl’s makeup is running all over and Lynsey’s jaw is set in a way that leads him to believe that she’s not above socking him in the face, so he excuses himself from the entire situation.

“Gotta go to the club,” he grunts.  “You two do what you want with Whitney Jr. up there.”

“If you deal to anybody, Brendan, I swear to God –”

“Yeah, well,” Brendan pinches the bridge of his nose, “Don’t okay?  I promise, I won’t.”

“How do you expect me to believe you?” she asks, and Brendan just shrugs before leaving.

If yesterday was a train wreck, today is the sinking of the Titanic.

-

Ste’s a mess.  Mentally more than physically, but _damn_ he’s seen better days.

The day everything goes to shit, Brendan stays at the club until about four in the morning.  Cheryl stops by a few times, tries to make amends or something.  Brendan drinks what probably constitutes as too much whiskey and almost turns a drunken brawl into a murder scene.

Not a great day.

He comes home to a quiet flat and thinks he’s home free.  Ste isn’t on the couch and he isn’t in Brendan’s bed, so Brendan assumes he’s pissed off _again_.

Stupid.

Brendan’s down to his boxers when he notices Ste curled up in the corner of his room, and he barely manages to contain his ear-piercing shriek.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, probably louder than necessary.  There’s a lot of behavior that Brendan will excuse as acceptable, but curling up in the dark corner of people’s bedroom is not on that list.

“Too many windows downstairs,” is all Ste says, like that makes any sense.  Brendan scrambles into a pair of sleep pants and walks over to Ste.

“So this is withdrawal, huh?” he asks, but Ste laughs.

“No way,” he says. “This is just a crash.  Arsehole ruined my high last night.”

“Awww,” Brendan mocks, just because he’s falling short of filling his _be an asshole to Ste_ quota.  “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

Ste doesn’t rise to the bait, which is alarming enough on its own.  He’s sallow and drumming his fingers against his knees like he’s agitated.  One of his feet taps incessantly, and Brendan steps on it with one of his own to get it to stop.

“Why are you afraid of being gay?” Ste asks, and it throws Brendan off.

“What?”

Ste drags his hand under his nose and stands on unsteady legs.  “Heard you and Cheryl going at it today.  You had her screaming.”

Brendan cocks his head to the side.  “Maybe you should mind your own business, Steven.”  
  
“It’s my business after I’ve had your dick in me,” Ste says.  “So what’s so scary about it?”

“Get out of my room, Steven,” Brendan says, clenching his fists.  “We’re coming up on the arsecrack of dawn, here, and I want to get some sleep.”

Ste smiles, but it looks empty.  “You’re ignoring the question.”

“No,” Brendan draws in a breath, “I’m refusing to acknowledge it because it’s stupid.”

Ste shakes his head.  “You’d be terrified of your own shadow if it tried to make a move on you.  You’re pathetic, Brendan.”

Brendan grabs him by the collar and shoves him against the wall.  Ste grunts lamely as his body makes contact.  When Brendan jerks him back and forth, he just slumps his head.  “You want to say that again, boy?”

“Just admit it,” Ste sounds like he’s begging now.  “It’ll make both our lives easier.”

“There is _nothing_ ,” Brendan hisses, “To admit.”

“Why are you being like this?” Ste asks.  His eyes can hardly focus.

“Because you _ruined_ my life,” Brendan says.  “You and your fucking drugs and your fucking propositions.”

Ste shakes his head.  “This was always bound to happen, weren’t it?  Can’t hide forever, Brendan.”

Brendan shakes him again, and Ste hardly even winces when his head smacks against the wall.  “I was doing just fine before you sashayed into my club.”

“Sa–” Ste screws his face up.  “What?”

“Jesus tap dancing Christ,” Brendan huffs as he gives Ste a solid shove and backs away from him.  “This is pointless.  Get out.”

“But,” Ste hesitates.  “I stayed in here last night, didn’t I?  Can’t I again?”

“I told you,” Brendan says, “Cuddling ain’t gonna become a staple in our nighttime bonding routine.”

“Bren, please–” Ste start to plead, but Brendan isn’t in the mood for begging.

“You know what, fuck it,” he yanks the bedroom door open.  “Sleep in the bed.”

If Ste has something else to say, Brendan doesn’t stick around to hear it.  The living room is freezing, but he makes do.  At least the moon has pissed off for tonight, though.  Brendan looks out the windows and its met with blackness.  It’s the kind of dark that faces peer through, and it’s also the kind of dark that casts a near-tangible reflection.

Brendan rolls over and shoves his face into the sofa cushions.

-

A week passes.  A long, painful, incredibly awkward week.  Ste is practically on house arrest, and there’s always someone around to babysit him.  He gets worse every day.  Either he’s pacing around the flat with his hands tangled in his hair for literal _hours_ or he’s lying around looking grey and sad and completely lifeless.

He’s also eating a lot.  Like, enough to rival Brendan a lot.

Puking doesn’t happen, to Brendan’s surprise.  Lynsey says it’s because cocaine withdrawal doesn’t usually entail vomiting like, say, heroin.  Brendan isn’t too sure.  Ste looks like he could puke.

The worst thing that happens nearly makes Cheryl faint.  Long story short, Ste bites through his lip in agitation.  It doesn’t bleed badly, but three drops land straight on one of Brendan’s crisp white shirts.

He deserves this.

The moments that are nearly unbearable are when Lynsey is working and Cheryl is out of the flat, which means Brendan has to stick around to make sure Ste doesn’t climb out a window and flee into the night or something. This is one of those moments now.

Brendan calls dibs on the entire sofa.  Telly’s shit right now, so he hooks up the Super Nintendo and fires up an old classic Zelda game, A Link to the Past.  It gives him something to look at other than Ste’s wilty little withdrawal face.

Soon, Ste plops down on the floor by the sofa and draws his knees to his chest.

“Lynsey asked me about us,” he says.

“What _us_?” Brendan asks, mostly ignoring Ste in favor of playing the game.  His heath is low, and the incessant beeping is driving him insane.

“I didn’t tell her nothing,” Ste says.  “But I think she’s got us figured anyway.”

Link does a pirouette and faceplants, game over.  Brendan has to refrain from snapping the controller in half, but at least the beeping has stopped for now.

“I overdosed once,” Ste says conversationally.  “I thought I were dying.  I thought, alright, this is it, finally.  I thought I were out.  But someone found me and got me to hospital.  They pumped something in my veins and gave me a card with a rehab address, and that was it.”

Brendan is sure this is where he’s supposed to say something profound and supportive.   _You’re a survivor, Steven.  I’m proud of you, Steven.  Let me suck your dick, Steven._   Or at least a lame _wow that sucks, Steven._

None of these things come out of his mouth.  Nothing at all comes out of his mouth.  Ste doesn’t seem to notice or care.  His eyes are glued on the screen, same as Brendan’s.

“That’s why I don’t shoot coke anymore,” he says.  “Too easy to OD.  Safer just to snort it.”

“Wow, that’s,” Brendan lets the click of the controller fill the silence as he searches for the right word, “Enlightening.”

Ste doesn’t say anything, he just hums.  Brendan keeps on playing, which falls directly in line with his plan to ignore Ste.  It gets difficult, however, when Ste sags against Brendan’s leg and starts rolling his head back and forth like he’s trying to shake his addiction out his ears.

“Steven,” Brendan snaps, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Is there any, uh,” Ste snaps his fingers like that’ll help him remember, “Any valium?”

Brendan pauses the game to stare at him.  “Valium.  Seriously?  Fucking, _seriously,_ Steven?

“Helps me when I get like this.”

“Oh,” Brendan’s eyebrows reach for the sky, “You get like this _often_?”

“Comedown is unavoidable, mostly,” Ste says, like that’s normal.  Maybe it is normal, since normal is relative.  Ste’s normal is a buzz under his skin that fine tunes itself to the chemicals in his blood.  Brendan’s normal is the ache in his chest when he’s around Ste.

At least, that’s what’s normal for him now.

“I’m really scared,” Ste admits.  He doesn’t sound scared.  He doesn’t sound like anything at all.  “I don’t wanna keep using.  I wanna see my kids again.”

“Then stop using,” Brendan says, because he’s a colossal asshole.

“Not that easy,” Ste groans.  “I don’t know if I want to slice you up and run off of slice myself up so I don’t have to deal with this anymore.”

“Don’t you dare, Steven,” Brendan scolds like he’s speaking to a twelve year old with behavioral problems instead of a now vaguely suicidal drug addicted ex-prostitute.  “Cheryl and Lynsey would string me up.”

“Yeah, then I’d be all scarred up and ugly,” Ste says.  He huffs in a way Brendan assumes is an attempt at a laugh.  It’s pretty pathetic.  “Then you won’t want to suck my dick anymore.”

“I’m not going near that dick until you start to look less like a Tim Burton character,” Brendan says.  “Scars or no scars.”

“Bet you don’t even scar up,” Ste says, and he sounds like he’s pouting.  “Bet your skin is too thick after being such a bell-end for so long.”

“I have my share of scars,” Brendan mutters.  “Surprised you didn’t see them when we defiled my favorite sofa at the club.”

“What are they?” Ste asks.

“Bit invasive, don’t you think?”

Ste rolls his head to look up at Brendan with expectant eyes.  Brendan pauses the game again and sighs.

“Insides of my thighs,” he says stiffly.  “There are – there are burn marks.  Uh, cigarette burns.  You probably didn’t notice because they’re pretty faded now.”

Ste answers with silence and a furrowed brow.  Brendan takes that as his cue to plow on.

“My dad, he smoked,” Brendan sniffs and smoothes down his moustache, anything to distract him.  “Never took a belt to me.  Never took a switch to me.  Smacked me around a few times, but who's dad hasn't?”

Brendan huffs out a laugh.  Ste doesn’t return it.

“Anyway,” Brendan clears his throat.  “If I was bad, you know, stealing bottles of whiskey or doing my chores wrong, he’d uh…  He’d come into my room and lock the door.  Light a cigarette and just wait a little while.  He’d puff a few times and blow the smoke in my eyes and tell me – tell me all the things I did wrong.”

Brendan presses his thumb into the corner of his eye.  He’s not going to cry about this.  He hasn’t cried about this since he was twelve.  Ste is still looking at him in silence, eyes slightly glazed over and face unreadable.

“And then he’d tell me what he was going to do about it,” Brendan continues.  He can’t look at Ste anymore.  “He’d put the cigarette in his mouth and pull my trousers off.  Bet you can guess what happened after that.  It was always one burn mark on each thigh.  He’d hold it down longer if I fought him.”

Brendan doesn’t tell him what else his dad would do, because Ste doesn’t need to know.

“We’re pretty messed up, the pair of us,” Ste says.

“Yeah,” Brendan says, picking the controller back up and unpausing the game.  “No shit.”

The next ten or so minutes pass in silence between them.  Brendan can practically hear the wheels turning in Ste’s head as he comes to understand everything: Brendan Brady is such a bad man because his mean old daddy marked him up.  Boo hoo, Ste will think, plenty of little boys get pushed around and they don’t turn out like Brendan fucking Brady.

Minutes tick past and Ste doesn’t say anything, but his stomach groans loud enough to fill the room.

“Jesus,” Brendan pauses the game, “Are you ever gonna stop eating?”

“Sorry,” Ste stands up and heads into the kitchen, “Not like I were eating much before, you know.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that then instead of eating everything in the kitchen now.”

“You eat more than I do, anyway,” Ste says, banging cupboards and rummaging in the fridge.  The sound grates on Brendan’s nerves until he pauses the game and stands up.

“Just eat one of those microwave soup things,” Brendan says, reaching around Ste to open the soup cupboard.

“Don’t want soup,” Ste snaps, probably harsher than he intended, “And I don’t need you to make it for me.”

“Then cut out the symphony of slamming over here and make something,” Brendan hisses.  He and Ste could argue about absolutely anything.

"I will when I find something I want."

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” Brendan mutters, grabbing a can of soup and a bowl.

“I said I don’t–”

“I’m making _myself_ dinner,” Brendan grunts.  “Go back to slamming the cupboards."

He rummages around for a can opener and cranks the can open.  Ste stays still and oddly quiet as Brendan dumps the soup into a bowl.  He’s about to move to the microwave to nuke the damn thing when he feels Ste right behind him.  It starts with his breath ghosting along Brendan’s spine, but soon grows to two hands creeping around his middle.

Some cracked part of Brendan’s brain thinks that Ste is going to go through with the whole Stabbing Brendan thing he was talking about earlier.  That fear flies out the window when he feels Ste’s head leaning against his shoulder, and he soon realizes he’s being _hugged_.

“Your dad was a prick,” Ste says.  “Fuck him.  My stepdad knocked me about, too.  Fuck both of them.  I hope they’ll be well cozy together when they’re burning in Hell.”

Here’s the messed up part: Brendan is really, truly, deeply touched.  He sort of poured his heart and guts and soul out to a depressed drug addict, and it’s surprisingly not biting him in the ass yet.  Instead, it’s yielding something that feels like solidarity.

The drugs, their kids, their fathers, their big gay feelings, Brendan is starting to accept the fact that he and Ste are two different men walking the same path.

“Yeah, well,” Brendan grunts, shifting just enough that he can turn to the microwave without dislodging Ste, “You should make some food before you starve to death and my sister murders me.”

“Right,” Ste pulls away.  They lapse back into silence until the microwave beeps, and Brendan burns his fingertips in his haste to get his soup and exit the kitchen.  He takes his seat back on the sofa and tries to ignore the cacophony banging that's starting back up behind him.  Whatever Ste eventually chooses can’t be anything fancy – Brendan hears the microwave hum to life ass soon as Ste stops slamming doors.

The microwave beeps with a sense of finality that has Brendan’s skin crawling as he obnoxiously slurps his soup.  Ste waders into the living room, steaming microwaved dinner in hand.  This time, he sits on the couch next to Brendan.

The entire time, they never touch.  Ste doesn’t slump into the dip in the sofa to nestle into Ste’s side, and Brendan doesn’t try to drag him closer.  It’s like Ste is trying to make an effort to get closer to Brendan, but blocking himself off at the same time.

These mood swings are starting to scramble Brendan’s head.

The whole time they sit there, Ste only ever pipes up to criticize Brendan’s choice in video games.  He gives him grief when Brendan dies for the third time on a boss battle.

“If you think you can do a better job,” Brendan says, eyes glued to the screen, “Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Cause this game is shit and old,” Ste pouts.  “Haven’t you got Fifa or something?”

“This game is not shit, Steven,” Brendan says.  “It’s classic.”

“Yeah, which is code for _old and shit_.”

“Kids these days,” Brendan mutters, and Ste lightly kicks at him.  He doesn’t move his feet back, though, and they soon lapse back into silence.  Two hours and a final boss later, Brendan sits the controller down and lets the gentle 8-bit main menu music fill the space.  Ste has long since fallen asleep, and Brendan decides that watching his lashes flutter as he dreams is totally not creepy since he can’t get up without possibly waking Ste.

He’s doing the boy a favor, really.

Cheryl comes home to find them like that, Ste curled against one arm of the sofa with his feet on Brendan’s lap.

“Shhh,” Brendan puts a finger to his lips.  “It’s hard enough to get him to sleep anymore, don’t wake him.”

“How long’s he been out?” Cheryl whispers, and Brendan shrugs.

“An hour probably.”

Ste stirs at the sound of Brendan’s voice, and Cheryl shoots Brendan a look like he did it on purpose.  He digs the heel of his palm into his eye and stretches like a cat.  “What time is it?”

“Time for you to move on up into a bed, babe,” Cheryl says softly.  “Okay?”

“I’m alright here tonight,” Ste says.

“It’s fine, I’ll take the couch,” Brendan insists.  “Go on, get moving before you fall asleep and I have to carry you.”

“Wouldn’t mind that, me,” Ste says blearily, and Cheryl looks like she’s in danger of choking on air.

“Yeah, well,” Brendan grunts, “It ain’t gonna happen.  Go on, get out of here.”

Ste reluctantly uncurls and wanders upstairs, leaving Cheryl and Brendan alone.

“This is good,” she says.  “What you’re doing.  I won’t forgive you for what you’ve done, but this is… Better.”

Brendan’s shoulders slump.  “I don’t even know why I bothered getting involved with him in the first place.”

Cheryl squeezes his shoulder, and it’s the closest thing to kind she’s been to him all day.  “I think I know.”

Brendan doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want to hear what she thinks she knows.  After a period of silence, she gives his shoulder another squeeze and walks away.

-

Ste’s mood swings get worse.  He spends most of the time moping and whining, but he gets violent and aggressive once or twice.  Brendan can’t blame him.  Cheryl will hardly let him leave the house without a chaperone.

“His cravings are bad,” Lynseys says one morning after Cheryl and Ste go to the shops together.  “It’s hard to tell how long they’ll last.  If he was using almost daily for over half a year straight, it’s gonna be hard for him.”

“Shouldn’t he be all detoxed by now or something?” Brendan asks through a mouthful of cereal.  Lynsey just shrugs.

“Cocaine detox is hard, Brendan,” she sighs.  “It’s not like we can flush it out of his system, it’s a mental dependency.”

Brendan grimaces.  “But he’s gonna get over it, right?”

“His mental health is…” Lynsey gropes around for the right words, “Less than stellar.  I wish he’d let us admit him to a rehab, hanging around here all day is just going to drive him stir crazy.  Last thing he needs right now is to be on house arrest.”

“You think he’d run off if we let him out?”

“He keeps begging _you_ for some,” Lynsey says, and her voice is cold.  “I don’t see why he wouldn’t try elsewhere.”

“Old habits die hard, huh,” Brendan mutters, pouring a cup of coffee.

Lynsey bites her lip and wrings her hands in front of her, and Brendan already knows he’s not mentally prepared for what’s going to come next.  “Is it true that he was, you know… _Selling_ himself?”

Brendan sighs and takes a hefty gulp.  “You know what they say about desperate people, Lyns.”

“And did you ever… Buy?”

“ _No_ ,” Brendan slams his mug down on the counter.  Lynsey’s eyes go wide.  She purses her lips in a way that tells Brendan she’d throw sass back in his face if she didn’t know better.

“Okay, bad question,” she says.  “But now that I know you’re–”

“Don’t say it,” he warns.

“Bren, this is getting really tiresome,” Lynsey rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, imagine how it is on my end.”

She sighs again.  “Listen, I have to go.  Cheryl won’t be in until late so you’re on Ste duty today.”

“He’s not a kid,” Brendan mutters into his coffee, “He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“No,” she says, pulling on her jacket, “But he is a fairly unstable addict going through withdrawal.  Don’t want to let him relapse.”

“He’s not that bad,” Brendan says.  He honestly expected the withdrawal to be worse.

“Not that you can see,” she says as she makes her way to the front door.  “I promise you, his head’s a mess.”

He hates that she’s proven right later that night.  Brendan is sleeping on the sofa when he is dragged awake by Lynsey calling for him upstairs.  He’s _this_ close to rolling over and dragging the duvet over his head, but he imagines her sad little face and her gigantic puppydog eyes and, oh dammit.

“Coming,” he grunts, standing up and stretching his back.  Many more nights of this couch and he’s just going to buy Ste his own bed.  When he walks into his room, he’s greeted to the sight of Ste curled into a ball practically hyperventilating with his head in Lynsey’s lap.

Brendan is reminded of how messed up he is when he feels a pang of jealousy.  So you know what, fuck it.  He sits down on the bed next to Ste and puts an awkward hand on his arm.  Ste is panting like he’s just run both lungs into nothing.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking Brendan in the eye.

“What,” Brendan looks questioningly at Lynsey, “Me?”

Ste swallows hard and nods.  “Dreamed about you.  You and your dad.”

Lynsey looks like she wants to ask questions, but thankfully doesn’t.  “Ste,” she says instead, “How often have you been getting nightmares?”

“I don’t think I can do this,” he whimpers, ignoring the question. “I’m gonna die if I don’t get more.”

“No, Steven,” Brendan says flatly, “You’re gonna die if you do get more.”

“Brendan’s right,” Lynsey says, smoothing Ste’s hair down.  “You can’t keep this up, you know that.”

“Just a little bit,” Ste begs.  “You can keep giving me less and less until I don’t need it any more, right?”

“Ste, you’ve been doing so well,” Lynsey says.  “You don’t want to relapse now.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Ste groans.  “I just want a little bit.  I want to get out of this house and see my kids.”

“If you go to rehab,” Lynsey starts cautiously, “You’ll have more room.  You’ll be away from here and everything that’s got you so crazy.  And maybe we can find a way to let your kids visit.  It’ll be easier to get better.”

Ste is quiet for a moment.  His breathing has finally leveled out.  “Will it?”

“Anything’s better than being babysat by Brendan all day.”

“Hey,” Brendan warns, and she waves him off.

“Alright,” Ste mutters.  “I’ll try it if you think it’ll help.  I don’t have much money, though, and–”

Lynsey hushes him. “We’ll take care of that.”

“Alright,” Ste says.  “Alright.”

“That’s that, I suppose,” Lynesy says, standing up, “We’ll start calling around tomorrow.  Try to get some sleep, Ste.”

When she moves to leave, Brendan is still awkwardly sitting with his hand rubbing Ste’s arm.

“Hang on, wait,” Brendan gets up before Ste can say anything and follows Lynsey into the hall.  “Are we sure that’s a good idea?”

“He’s finally agreed to give it a shot,” Lynseys says.  “He’ll be able to get the help he needs in an controlled environment, not our living room!”

“We’ve been doing a fine job taking care of him,” Brendan says.  “He doesn’t need to waste time and money on a rehab center.”

“What is your problem?” she asks.  “We’ve been trying to get him to agree to rehab for _months_.”

“He doesn't need anyone else’s help,” Brendan hisses, and Lynsey gets a smug look on her face.  “What?”

“I think I get it,” she says, crossing her arms and nodding.  “Don’t you worry, Ste will be back before you know it.”

“What?”

“You better get back in there,” she says.  “He probably won’t want to spend the night alone.”

“Lynsey, I’m not–”

“I don’t care,” she says, and walks back to her room.

Brendan stands in the hallway for a long time.  He thinks that maybe Ste has fallen asleep so he can creep back downstairs, but he knows he hasn’t.  Brendan can’t imagine what exactly he dreamt about, but no way it was pleasant.  On top of that, it was all _Brendan's_ fault.

Everything always comes back to bite him, one way or another.

He tip-toes back into the bedroom, careful not to make a sound.  There’s a sort of self-consciousness that comes from being featured in someone else’s dreams, and Brendan _really_ doesn’t want to talk about it.  He peels back the covers just enough to slide under, but he’s still taken with how small Ste looks underneath.  Eyes closed and breath soft, Brendan knows Ste is still awake.  He’s a shit faker.

“I wish I didn’t tell you about my dad,” Brendan whispers.

“I’m glad you did,” Ste says.

“If I didn’t, then I’d still be asleep right now.”

“But you wouldn’t be in a bed,” Ste says, and he sounds cheeky.  Brendan turns to look at him to be met with the whites of his eyes shining in the barely-there light of the room.

“So what,” Brendan scoffs, “You’re saying I should be _grateful_ you woke me up?”

Ste nods.  “Wouldn’t mind you paying me back with a cuddle or something.”

“Seriously, Steven?”

Ste responds by wordlessly draping an arm across Brendan’s chest.

“Fine,” Brendan sighs.  He drags Ste closer and prays Cheryl knocks in the morning.

“This is good,” Ste mutters blearily into Brendan’s collarbone, “We’re indestructible together, us.”

Brendan doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want to bring reality screeching back to Ste.  If it hadn’t been for Brendan, Ste wouldn’t be this messed up.  So instead, he lets Ste nestle in close as he waits for the next nightmare to rock through them.


	8. Chapter 8

“We could have just taken care of him here,” Brendan parrots for what has to be the fiftieth time since they dropped Ste off at the rehab center.  “This is a waste of time and money.”

“Oh, Brendan,” Lynsey sighs, “Just drop it.  He’s going to get the kind of care he needs, lay off.”

“It’s hard to lay off when it’s _my_ money that’s being wasted,” Brendan fishes around for his keys to unlock the door to the flat.  He pushes the door open and feels his heart plummet.

Sitting on the couch is a gangly young man who most _definitely_ should not be there.

“Declan…” Brendan breathes.  “How’d you get here?”

“Aunt Cheryl called me,” he says.  “She… Filled me in on what’s been going on.”

“Really?” Brendan asks stupidly.  In his defense, he’s still a little stunned.  “What’d she tell you?”

Declan shrugs.  “Mostly about Ste.  How he’s going to rehab.”

“So you came all the way back here?”

“I just don’t think it was fair to run out on you like I did,” he looks sheepish.  “And… I’m sorry.”

“Alright, come here,” Brendan pulls Declan into a hug.  He’s not going to screw up and send Declan storming off again, not this time.

“I can stay for three weeks,” Declan says, “But even that’s pushing it.”

“Does your mother know you’re here?” Brendan asks when they pull back, and Declan’s expression is all the answer he needs.

“She knows I’m away, but…” He bites his lip and looks away.  “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“You’re a Brady, alright,” Lynsey says, and Brendan almost forgot she was there.

He turns to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she grins.  “I’ll leave you guys to it, then.”

It’s a little easier this time around.  Brendan doesn’t feel like he has to win his son’s favor away from Ste, even though Declan asks about him all the time.  Cheryl comes home and admits that she practically set this whole thing up, and reminds Brendan that he’s getting a second chance.

Right.  Don’t screw it up again.  Message received.

Thank God Declan seems to have forgotten about walking in on Brendan shoving his tongue down Ste’s throat.  That, or he knows better than to ask about it.  What they have going on now is unstable at best, and neither of them wants to mess it up.  But having Declan back, knowing Ste’s going to get clean, being on good terms with Cheryl again… Things are looking alright.

Of course, it lasts a whole two days.

Brendan’s in the club in the afternoon waiting for Rhys to show up, absently flipping through a trashy gossip magazine and wondering how Declan is doing.  Cheryl set out to spoil him all day since she feels like she doesn’t get to do that nearly enough.  Brendan’s thoughts begin to drift to Ste, only to be interrupted by the door banging open.

“You’re late, Rhys,” he calls, but it’s Danny Houston’s voice that answers.

“Think again, Brendan,” Danny says, “Brought a friend round for drinks.”

“We’re closed,” Brendan turns on his barstool.  What he sees approaching him just about stops his heart.  It’s Danny, next to a familiar man with stitches in his cheek and an ugly crooked nose.

Ste would be happy to know that he did not, in fact, kill a man.  Brendan is less happy about it.

“Don’t be like that, Brendan,” Danny says.  “My buddy here is due to get his stitches out soon, we’re gonna have a bit of a celebration.”

“Go celebrate somewhere else,” Brendan grunts, turning back to the bar.  “We’re closed.”

“I guess it must be hard to serve people when you got no barman,” Danny says, and Brendan already knows what this is about.

“I have plenty of barmen,” he says.  “But they ain’t here, cause we ain’t open.”

“Maybe I’ll come back later,” Danny says, sitting next to Brendan.  The bruised up man leans on Brendan’s other side, but Brendan doesn’t so much as tense up.  “I’d like to do some catching up with my good friend, Ste.”

“He doesn’t work here anymore,” Brendan says.  He’s trying to act bored, but he can feel the back of his neck start to sweat.  “Went off to get clean, surprisingly enough.  So I guess your reunion will have to go on hold.”

“But I heard he was shacked up with you in that flat of yours,” Danny grins.  “With your sister and that cute little thing.  Nolan is her name, right?  She your woman?”

“Nope,” Brendan flips the page of his magazine and tries to focus on the words.  This asshole isn’t going after Lynsey next.  “Like a sister, that one.  I hear she’s seeing some nice guy, really fit.”

“You’d know all about fit blokes, wouldn’t you?”

Brendan tries not to laugh.  “Not nearly as much as the residential pimp, I’d wager.”

“All I’m saying is, first it was Vinnie,” Danny starts, and Brendan’s heart skips, “Then you had Ste living in your flat, practically in your lap.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“Must be nice,” Danny says, “Leashing someone like him.  Not all junkies are that pretty, you know.  He’s my best worker, bar none.”

“ _Was_ , Danny,” Brendan grits out. “He was.”

“Right,” Danny says.  “And I have half a mind to take him back.”

Brendan laughs.  “What, you gonna break into a rehab center to kidnap a recovering addict?”

“Oh, he’ll be out soon, Brendan,” Danny says.  “And when he gets out, he’ll come crawling straight back to me.”

“Steven ain’t the crawling type.”

“Really?” Danny grins.  “Cause I’ve seen him do it.”

“That was back when you had him fucked up on all sorts.”

“Do you really think a few months of people asking him about his feelings is gonna make any difference?” Danny asks, leaning close.  “Ste’s a cokehead.  He’s _my_ cokehead, and nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Steven’s stronger than you’re giving him credit for,” Brendan says.  “Just look at what he did to your little buddy over there.”

Brendan gestures to the ugly mug of the guy Ste battered, and Danny laughs.  “Took him by surprise is all, ain’t that right?”

The man nods, and Brendan barely manages to roll his eyes.  “Well, gentlemen, as exciting as this is, I’m gonna have to ask you to get out of my club now.”

Danny laughs.  It’s low and gravelly and disgusting.  “You sure you want to be talking to me like that, Brendan?”

“I'm sure that it’s my club, Danny,” Brendan says coldly.  “And I can say whatever I want in my club.”

“Right, well,” Danny goes to stand up, and so does his friend.  “Give Ste a kiss for me next time you see him.  Tell him Danny misses him.”

And then he’s walking away, cheap shoes clacking on the cold floor.  The club is empty and Rhys still hasn’t shown up and Ste is never going to be free as long as Danny fucking Houston is breathing down his neck.

If Brendan had a glass next to him, it would be shattered by now.

-

Danny keeps his giant bulbous nose out of Brendan’s business after that.  A few sketchy little things with sunken eyes and a bad habit hanging over them come wandering into Chez Chez, but Brendan sends them away before he has another Ste on his hands.

And as for Ste –

“You should see him, Bren,” Cheryl says.  “He almost looks healthy for once.”

“Yeah, but he hates it in there,” Declan shoots back.  “I swear, he looks like an inmate instead of a patient.”

It’s been a week and Lynsey, Cheryl, and Declan have already made time to haul their asses over to the rehab to visit Ste.  Cheryl and Declan are even talking about going again next week.

“You can’t seriously think you’re going to keep this up,” he says.  “I’m surprised they even let you visit him so soon.”

“The point of a rehab isn’t to completely cut the patient off,” Lynsey says.  “They encourage this kind of thing.  You should pop in sometime.”

“Yeah, he asked about you a lot,” Declan interjects.  “He wants to see you.”

“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna waste a precious afternoon driving all the way out there just so Steven can tell me about how none of the medical staff actually give a damn about him.”

Lynsey scoffs.  “Brendan!”

“No offense Lyns.”

“Right,” she rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen.

“Maybe you can come with us next week,” Cheryl suggests.

“Yeah,” Brendan says, “And maybe Hell will freeze over and I’ll shave off this delicious specimen.”

He purses his lips and strokes his moustache lovingly.  

Cheryl rolls her eyes.  Between her and Lynsey, Brendan’s starting to think that women are just inherently good at that.  Then again, Declan is good at it too.

Speaking of Declan, he fixes Brendan with wide eyes that would work much better as a persuasive method if her were eight and not eighteen.  “I think it’s a good idea, da.  One of the first things he did was ask about you.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll think about it.”

Declan grins all sly and sneaky in a way Brendan didn’t even know he was capable of.  “Promise?”

“I promise to think about it,” Brendan says, wandering into the kitchen after Lynsey and stealing some of the cheese she’s using on a sandwich.  “Not to actually do it.”  
  
Lynsey smacks his hands away.  “I guess that’s something.”

“It’s all I can offer,” he says.  “Now come on, Deccy, lets go grab a bite.”

Declan willingly follows him out of the flat, going on about football and how much he hates maths and a girl he’s sweet on back in Ireland.  Brendan takes his second chance and runs with it.

-

After Cheryl and Declan’s second visit, they manage to guilt trip Brendan into visiting Ste.  The three of them teaming up is too much for a single man to handle.

He pulls on a tight dark sweater and a pair of jeans and tries to remind himself that he doesn’t need to impress a recovering drug addict.  When he trudges downstairs, he finds Declan still in his pajamas with a bowl of soup in his lap.

“Declan, what are you doing?” Brendan asks.  “I thought you were coming to see Ste with me.”

Declan spoons in a mouthful and shrugs.  “I’ve already seen him twice.  You should see him on your own.”

“Wait,” Brendan’s at a loss.  “Seriously?”

Declan shrugs. “I have plans, anyway.”

“Right,” Brendan says.  “Well, I’m off.”

He’s not off.  He’s still 100% on.  On the welcome mat, at least.  He expected Declan to go with him and act as a buffer, but now that that’s not happening… Brendan isn’t sure what to do.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go today,” Brendan starts, but Declan stop him.

“Dad,” he says, “Just go to see Ste.  Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done.

When Brendan steps out of his car an hour later and takes in the rehab center, he considers getting back in and going for a drive all day instead.  He can just lie to everyone when he gets home, no problem.

But they’ll come to see Ste again, and everything will fall apart when Ste learns Brendan lied about seeing him.  So screw it.  Brendan can handle this.

Lynsey told him just to go to Ste’s room, so he awkwardly makes his way to the room number she gave him, trying his hardest not to look out of place.  He knocks on the door and receives no answer, and peeking his head in shows off two empty beds.

He considers calling it a lucky break and fleeing back home, but the mental image of Declans sad eyes sends him to the reception window in the lobby of the building.

“Excuse me,” Brendan taps on the window.  “Steven Hay _is_ still a patient here, right?”

The woman behind the screen flattens her lips into a line and types something up on her computer.  “He’s in room 318, the left wing when you come out of the elevator–”

“Yeah, I know,” Brendan huffs. “I already checked there.”

“He doesn’t have anything scheduled for right now,” she says.  “Try the smoking hut.”

“The smoking hut?”

“The smoking hut.”

“Well,” Brendan says, looking around the lobby.  “Thanks.”

“No problem, love,” the girl says.  Brendan starts walking away before he realizes he’s missing something very vital.  He walks backwards to the receptionist desk.

“Where _is_ the smoking hut?”

Ten minutes and a set of bad directions later, Brendan finds himself standing ten feet away from a glorified gazebo with what looks like strips of semi-opaque chicken wire covering the sides and adorning the roof.  Inside are three silhouettes and indistinct chatter that has Brendan straining his ears for a certain Mancunian accent.

Brendan realizes he’s just been standing on the sidewalk completely still for an embarrassingly long amount of time when an aged man steps out of the hut and walks past him.  He gives the man a nod, and when he turns his head back, one of the figures is looking his way.

Fuck.

He takes a deep breath and slowly walks closer.  The figure follows his movement until he’s close enough to almost make out features.

Brendan opens the squeaky door and pokes his head into a cloud of smoke.  It looks like a gutted gazebo from the inside, too.  He beats down the urge to cough when he gets an eyeful of a scally lad with a cigarette dangling from his fingers and a small smile on his face.

“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” he says, and he sounds smug even if he doesn’t look it.

“Yeah, well,” Brendan shuffles inside a little uneasily.  “The rest of the Brady Bunch are a persuasive lot.”

“This the bloke you’ve been on about?” the other remaining person in the hut asks, and Ste’s ears turn red.  “You were right about the tashe, Jesus.”

It’s Brendan’s turn to look smug. “Oh, so you’ve been _going on_ about me, have you?”

“Shut up,” he says.  “It’s not like there’s much else to talk about here.”

“You’re not going to introduce me to your friend, Steven?”

“Tracy,” she thrusts her hand out toward him.  “Charmed.”

Brendan is proud of himself for only hesitating a second.  Her handshake is clammy but firm, so he’s got to give her credit for that at least.  After, she excuses herself, stubbing her cigarette out and leaving Brendan and Ste alone.

With less awkwardness than he feels, Brendan takes the space she vacated opposite Ste.  He’s about to say something when the metric fuckton of smoke in this stupid little hut clogs his throat and forces a cough out.

“Sorry,” Ste says, taking a drag with a sense of finality.  “I know you hate smoking.  We can leave.”

Ste goes to stub out his cigarette, but Brendan stops it.  “Steven, I work in a club.  This is nothing.”

This is actually a lot, but Brendan doesn’t let that show.

Thankfully, Ste stubs out his cigarette anyway.  “Nah, it’s fine.  Come on, it’s nice out.  We can go for a walk.”

“Do I look like the _go for a walk_ type?” Brendan asks.

“You never know,” Ste says, standing up and leading Brendan back out into the fresh air.  “Months ago, I weren’t the _go to rehab_ type, now look at me.”

“So how is this place, anyway?” Brendan asks, letting Ste lead him away from the smoke hut and main building.

“Alright, I guess,” Ste says, keeping his eyes down.  “I haven’t had to sleep with anyone for money in a while, so that’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Brendan grunts.  “It would be good to keep that to a minimum.”

“I always knew you were the jealous type,” Ste teases.  Brendan isn’t sure how to react.  It’s weird that Ste is acting like… Like they’re a _thing_.

Shit, are they?

“You know me, Steven,” Brendan says.  “I don’t like to share my stuff.”

“Yeah, we call that _selfish_ most places,” Ste says, but he sounds amused.

“Really, Steven,” Brendan clears his throat.  “How are you handling this place?  No bullshit.”

Ste doesn’t answer for a while, he just walks.  Brendan takes in the scenery instead of pushing him.  It’s nice out here.  There are some other patients or whatever you call them wandering around.  Some with people in street clothes, some with people who are clearly staff.  It took Lynsey and Ste two weeks to decide on where would be best for Ste, so at least they picked someplace pretty.

“So they just let you wander out here?” Brendan asks, trying to set Ste at ease again.

Ste shrugs.  “I guess they figure that if we run off, they’re still going to get their money.”

Brendan forces a laugh.  “Yeah.  I guess you’re right.”

“And how are things back home?” Ste asks, finally turning his head to look at Brendan.  “With the club and stuff?”

 _Danny Houston stopped by_ , Brendan doesn’t say, because that’s not going to help anything.  Instead, he says, “Everything’s been quiet since you left.”

“Nobody’s been asking after me?”

Brendan shrugs.  “Maybe a few people, but–”

“Alright, listen,” Ste stops, and Brendan comes to a halt next to him.  “It’s been weeks and weeks since I’ve used, right, and I’m still all fucked in the head.  It’s wasting time, keeping me here.”

“Steven, that’s not true,” Brendan says, but Ste hugs his arms to himself and shakes his head.

“That’s what _they_ tell me,” Ste says.  His voice is wavering.  “I thought you’d be different from them, I thought you’d agree.  I thought you’d see how pointless this is and… And sell to me again.”

Something sour burns in Brendan’s stomach.  This is what he is to Ste: a stepping stone to a package full of cocaine.  Nobody would want Brendan for _Brendan_ , there’s always a catch or condition.

He won’t have Ste like this.  He won’t have competition in crisp lines sucked up through crisp notes.  Ste is breaking in front of him, and he’ll be damned if he lets Ste _touch_ the shit again.

“Hey, Steven,” Brendan says, tentatively moving to grasp Ste’s arms.  It triggers something in Ste that has the tears flowing.  Before he knows what to do about it, Brendan has an armful of a very distraught Steven Hay.

“It’s alright,” Brendan says lamely, hugging Ste with stiff limbs.  Two women walk by, clearly patients, and cast a sympathetic glance in their direction.  Brendan gives them a tight smile and a nod, but he hates the pity he sees in their eyes.

“It’s weird,” Ste sobs, “Cause this is the most I’ve felt since the last nightmare I had in the flat.  You remember?  You were there, and you woke me up.  I was screaming my bloody head off and you promised I wouldn’t have to deal with nightmares anymore.”

“You won’t,” Brendan starts, but Ste cuts him off.

“But I do!  Every night I do, and you’re not even here to help, are you?”

Brendan turns his head to murmur right in Ste’s ear.  “You know that if you go back home, one of us will slip up.  You’ll relapse.”

“I don’t care,” Ste sniffles.  “I’m not ever going to be better, so why are we wasting money on me?”

“You ain’t a lost cause, Steven,” Brendan pulls back enough to look Ste in the eye, even as Ste tries to avert his gaze.  “Lynsey doesn’t think so, and Cheryl doesn’t think so, and Deccy doesn’t think so.”

Ste nods, still failing to meet Brendan’s eyes.

“And…” Brendan sighs.  “And I don’t think so, either.  Okay?”

Ste finally looks up.  The constant shadows around his eyes are less pronounced than usual, letting the blue shine through. The weird thing is that, thinking back to the skinny pale boy he found creeping around in Chez Chez, Brendan isn’t sure he’d do anything differently between them given the chance.

He’s so damn soft.

Ste moves close to kiss him, but Brendan pulls back and shakes his head.  It’s one thing that the people close to him know, he’d rather not have all of these strangers giving him looks, too.  But then Ste draws his eyebrows close and gets a look of such intense sadness about him that Brendan sighs.  It’s not fair of him to pull that look out when his eyes _aren’t_ red-ringed and watery.

“A quick one,” he mutters, and Ste actually manages to crack a grin.  The kiss is chaste and brief, but still longer than the peck Brendan had been hoping for.  Ste makes one of those horrible _mwah_ noises when he pulls back, and Brendan hates himself for loving it.

As soon as they’re apart, Brendan scans their surroundings for curious eyes.  Thank God, nobody seems to have noticed.

They keep walking, and Brendan manages to get Ste talking about Leah and Lucas, about how Amy let them visit.  Ste gets a little weepy again, but thankfully doesn’t slide into full-swing sobbing this time.  They walk until they do a full lap around the grounds and Ste makes a quick stop for another cigarette.

Brendan nearly leaves right there, but something compels him to climb into that gross little gazebo and sit with Ste.

Back in the lobby, they start to part ways.  Ste tries to lean in for another kiss, but Brendan denies him again.

“Bren, come on,” Ste begs.  “None of these people know you, it don’t matter in here.”

Honestly, Brendan wants to know when they became the kind of people who kiss each other in public after fucking only once, and _Jesus_ , they’ve only fucked once.  What’s wrong with them?

Ste is getting that sad look about him again, since Brendan has been pondering the tough questions of the universe instead of paying attention to Ste.

“Please?”

With a sigh, Brendan leans down and presses a quick kiss to Ste’s cheekbone.  It feels ridiculous, especially considering he hasn’t kissed someone he fancies like this since he was twelve.

“That good enough for you?”

Ste takes a deep breath and smiles softly.  “That'll do.   _If_ you promise to come back again.”

“Chez and Lyns will kill me if I don’t anyway.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Ste says.  “Take care, Bren.”

“Yeah,” Brendan says.  “Don’t you go digging your way out of here with a spoon or something.”

“You take the fun out of everything,” Ste pouts.  “Don’t go getting yourself into trouble either.”

And then Ste turns and walks away.  Brendan has to restrain the urge to give him a parting swat on the arse, but that would probably shatter what’s remaining of his fragile facade of heterosexuality.

They've practically made it official, Ste has ruined him.

-

By the time he gets home, it’s after dark.  Declan’s sitting on the couch with a Super Nintendo controller in his hands and a wrinkle between his brow.

“Haven’t you got Fifa or something, dad?”

Brendan laughs.  “You kids don’t know classics.”

“How can mushrooms kill me?” he whines, viciously mashing buttons.  “They’re _mushrooms_.”

“Take enough of the right kind of mushrooms and they’ll kill you, alright.”

“So…” Declan starts, “Speaking of, how’s Ste?”

Brendan draws in a deep breath.  “Alright.  His ex was apparently moved enough by his attempt to get clean that she let the kids visit, so.”

Declan grins.  “He went on about them when we went to see him, too.”

Brendan draws in another breath.  “Yeah, well.  I know what it’s like to go a long time without seeing your kids, so I can’t blame him.”

Declan sobers at that, pausing the game and turning to look at Brendan.  “You had your reasons.”

“Well they weren’t good enough,” Brendan says.  “And I’m gonna make it up to you.”

Declan looks away and lets out a heavy sigh.  “Dad, don’t be mad, but I talked to Lynsey and… Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Tell you?” Brendan asks.  “About what?”

“You know,” Declan sighs.  “About you and Ste.”

“Oh, Christ,” Brendan pinches the bridge of his nose.  “What did she say?”

“Nothing that I didn’t already expect, really.  You still haven’t told her anything.”

“There isn’t anything _to_ say–”

“Dad, please don’t,” Declan looks back up at Brendan.  “You want to make it up to me?  Start by telling me the truth.”

 _Ouch_ , low blow.  “You’re as ruthless as your mother.”

Declan shrugs.  “Gets the job done.”

“Deccy, I’m really tired, and–”

“Da, _please_ ,” Declan begs, voice thin.  “Don’t lie to me.”

Brendan can feel tears stinging in his eyes, like Seamus is blowing smoke straight into his face.  No boy should ever have to see his father cry, it’s just not becoming of a man.  Brendan turns his head away and sniffs in a way that sounds too wet to his ears.

He tries to casually shrug Declan off.  “Why is it so important, anyway?”

“Cause you’re my dad,” Declan says simply. “And I care about you.”

Brendan draws in a shuddering breath.  In all the time they’ve spent together since his birth, Brendan has never broken down in front of either of his boys.  This is Ste’s fault, somehow.  Ste, with his addictions and his fuckups and his bright blue eyes and his soft hair and his full lips.

It’s all his fault that Brendan takes a deep breath and prepares to say something he’s been beating down for as long as he had the words in his head.

“I’m,” Brendan swallows around the words that are stuck in his throat before he finally manages to choke them out,  “I’m gay.”

It hangs in the air between them with the weight of a life sentence.

Without a word, Declan gets up off the couch and approaches Brendan.  Reading his face is near impossible, and Brendan feels his stomach sink.

“Thank you,” Declan says, taking Brendan by surprise.  Then he surprises him farther by pulling Brendan into a solid hug.  Brendan doesn’t know what to do, so he clings back like a child and fights at the tears in his eyes.

In a few days, Declan will go home.  He’ll take with him the knowledge that his father has been hiding something from him his entire life.  What Declan does with that information is on him, but Brendan can’t shake the feeling that the ugliest part of him has been ripped open wide and exposed to the people who matter the most.

Something in the way Declan holds onto him has him thinking that maybe those people can help him heal.  Maybe.


	9. Chapter 9

Six months _.  Six months_ and a shitload of money later, Ste is ready to be released from rehabilitation.

It wasn’t easy, and there were a few rocky patches in which Ste found himself curled up on Brendan’s couch insisting that he couldn’t go back to that place.  Two relapses.  Those weren’t fun.  But he made it through a full program, and he’s ready to come home.

There were more phone calls than visits, at least for Brendan.  Cheryl insisted on riding out to see him every other week, but Brendan only managed it monthly.  Phone calls were enough, though.  Hearing Ste talk a mile a minute without uppers messing him about in the head made something like butterflies hatch in Brendan’s stomach.

Christ, he’s just been getting gayer and gayer since his awkward coming out.

Speaking of, only once did they accidentally start having phone sex, so that’s some kind of accomplishment.  When he visits, Ste never lets him leave without a kiss.  Honestly, that’s probably the reason for Brendan’s infrequent visits, the coward he is.  It’s hard to shake the feeling that Ste is training him to do this in public all the time.  Maybe he has some kind of exhibitionism kink…

Anyway.

Brendan steps out of his car and looks at the rehab center for what he hopes is the last time.  Inside he finds the reception window and taps on the glass.

“I’m here to check Steven Hay out,” he says.  “Of the rehab–”

“Yep,” the receptionist says, “Let me call him down while you finalize everything.”

She hands him a couple of forms and picks up the phone.  As he scratches his signature out and listens to her tell Ste that it’s time to go, he wonders how exactly this is going to work out.  A lot can happen in half a year.  Who knows if Ste will even want Brendan anymore now that he’s clean?

Brendan finishes filling out the forms and hands them back to the receptionist.  When he turns around, he’s met with Ste standing right in front of him with a bag slung over his shoulder.  There’s color in his cheeks and light in his eyes and a tentative smile on his face.

God, he’s so gorgeous.  His hair is catching the streaming sunlight in a way that makes him look almost cherubic, but there’s always something about the slant of his eyes and the angle of his mouth that looks mischievous.  Brendan has to calm himself down, remind himself that Ste is getting out of recovery for god's sake.

There will be plenty of time to ruin that choirboy facade later.

“You’re free to go, Ste,” the receptionist says, and Ste says his goodbyes.  He talks Brendan’s ear off as they walk to the car and certainly doesn’t make an effort to shut up as they drive off toward home.  Brendan doesn’t mind anymore.  It’s kind of nice, hearing Ste go on about random bullshit without being high.

The subject of where Ste’s going to live comes up, as Brendan knew it would.  Honestly, he’s afraid Ste is going to move on and find somewhere else to stay.

“I want to be with my kids and Amy,” he says, and Brendan has to keep himself from saying something he might regret.  “But Amy’s got her fella living in there, hasn’t she?  No room for me unless I cozy up on the couch or sleep with Leah and Lucas.”

“You could stay at the flat,” Brendan suggests.  “My flat.  Maybe this time you can hold down a job and help with the rent.”

“Yeah, about that,” Ste starts, “I was thinking of working with Tony again, but I don’t know if he’d give me my job back after everything.”

“Chez would kill me if I didn’t offer you your job back at the club,” Brendan sighs for show.  “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Really?” Ste asks.  He sounds genuinely surprised.

“Sure,” Brendan grunts, and tries to make that the end of it.  A period of thirty seconds stretches on before them where nothing at all comes out of Ste’s mouth.  It’s weird, the silence.  Brendan always associated Ste with the ability to talk into infinity.

Brendan nearly veers off the road when Ste grabs his face and plants an abrupt kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Jesus!” Brendan shouts. “You trying to make me crash?”

“No,” Ste says, and Brendan doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning.  “Wouldn’t mind you pulling over, though.”

“Not gonna happen, Steven,” Brendan says, and he means it.  Or at least he thinks he means it.  Ste sure as hell doesn’t believe him, that much is clear in the way he takes Brendan’s earlobe between his teeth.

“Come on,” he breathes.  “I was good in there, weren’t I?  I deserve a reward.”

“You’re not doing this,” Brendan says, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.  “ _We’re_ not doing this.”

They do it anyway.

Not even ten minutes later and Brendan is pulling down a side road and turning the engine off while Ste paws at the front of his trousers where there’s already an impressive bulge rising just under the fabric.

“No, no,” Brendan swats his hands away.  “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it in the back.”

Ste grins.  “Backseat kind of bloke, are you?”

“Have you ever tried this in the front seat of a car before?” Brendan asks.  “Not fun.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Ste says, practically _pouts_.

“Yeah well,” Brendan gives him a reassuring kiss, “I’ve packed a lot of living in my years, Steven.  Now _go_.”

Brendan expects him to get out of the car and move to the back, but Ste just springs into the back seat with the kind of excitement that makes it seem like the last year and a half _hasn’t_ been emotionally damaging.  “Care to join me?”

Brendan draws in a deep breath at the sight of Ste yanking his t-shirt up and over his head.  This is probably a bad idea.  It hasn’t even been an hour yet, and they’ve practically been strangers for the last half year.  They should wait, they should talk about this.

Ste shoves his hand down his jeans and hisses out a pleased sound.  Screw it.

Brendan steps out of the car, because wedging your broad body between the front seats and getting stuck is definitely not sexy.  He takes the time to remove and fold his jacket, grinning at the annoyance clear on Ste’s face.

“Seriously?” Ste scoffs, and Brendan laughs.

“We really need to work on your patience.”

Ste rolls his eyes.  “Or maybe you just need to get a move on, _old man_.”

“Watch it,” Brendan growls.  He throws the driver’s seat door closed and opens the back door.  Ste is conveniently lying back with his legs spread and his hand down his jeans, shirt fung somewhere in the front of the car.  The smile on his face beats down any of Brendan’s doubts.

This was always an inevitability.

Brendan crawls in, blanketing Ste with his own body as he pushes down into a hard kiss.  It’s difficult to guess how they should do this.  Last time, Ste was strung out and itching for a fix.  He took it hard and gave it back every bit as good.  Brendan doesn’t know if that’s how it will be now that Ste isn’t built out of eggshell and nosebleeds anymore.

But then Ste sinks his teeth into Brendan’s lower lip, answering all his questions at once.  Brendan jerks away with a grunt and absolutely _adores_ the slight snarl in Ste’s grin.

“Sure you want to do this, Steven?” Brendan asks, just to be annoying.

“Wouldn’t be back here if I didn’t.”

Brendan hums at that and pushes Ste’s fringe off his forehead.  “Bit cramped though, isn’t it?”

“Enough room for you to get me off,” Ste drags his legs up Brendan’s side to wrap them around his middle.

“If you ruin the upholstery,” Brendan says, stroking Ste’s thigh, “I’m going to be _very_ displeased.”

“Sexy displeased or unsexy displeased?”

Brendan drags his hand over the bulge rising up in Ste’s unbuttoned trousers.  “Maybe a bit of both.”

Ste arches his back and pushes into Brendan’s hand.  “Well whatever you do, I hope you get on it faster than you are now.”

“Am I not allowed to take my time to enjoy myself, Steven?”

“Backseat shags aren’t _supposed_ to be all roses and candles,” Ste gripes, trying to wiggle out of his trousers.  Brendan has mercy and tugs them off the rest of the way with some difficulty.

“Christ, you’re a skinny thing,” Brendan breathes, bending down to kiss Ste’s stomach.  His back is going to be killing him tomorrow, but this is worth it.  “Did they even feed you in there?”

“I’ve put on some muscle, me,” Ste says, running his hand through Brendan’s hair.  “Gonna be proper buff soon, just wait.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Brendan grins against the soft hair on Ste’s lower belly.  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Trying to say I’m scrawny?” Ste asks.

Brendan looks up, not bothering to wipe the grin off his face.  “Pretty sure I already did.”

“Don’t know why I put up with you,” Ste growls, and drags Brendan up into a biting kiss.

Brendan pulls back long enough to mutter _likewise_ against Ste’s mouth before they’re kissing hard again.  They didn’t quite think this through – it’s not like Brendan was actually _planning_ to fuck in the car on the way back.  There’s no condoms, no lube, and hardly any room to move around.

But god damn, he’s gonna make this happen.

Brendan brings a hand down to squeeze Ste’s cock.  It’s getting nice and hard, this shouldn’t take long.  They don’t have the time to do everything Brendan wants to do, but all that can wait until later.  For now, Brendan strokes Ste through his boxers and presses his thumb against the small patch of moisture at the tip.

“Miss me in there, did you?”

“You didn’t give me much to miss,” Ste whines.  “We only ever did this before once.”

“Yeah, well,” Brendan mutters, mouthing at Ste’s neck, “Things go according to plan and we’ll have plenty more opportunities.”

“Mmm,” Ste moans, “I like the sound of that.”

Brendan’s dick throbs as a reminder that _hello_ , it’s still here.  Ste’s voice alone shouldn’t do that to him.  The stupid thick accent should snuff out any sort of appeal, but Brendan finds himself growing harder at the sound.

“Christ,” he groans, “I can’t wait to get you in a bed.”

“Does that mean I won’t have to take the couch anymore?”

“Fuck no,” Brendan leans down and sucks a kiss into Ste’s neck.  “I’m not letting you sleep anywhere that I won’t be able to wake you up with a blowjob.”

“Aww,” Ste tilts his head to let Brendan move higher, “Dead sweet, that.  Though I’m not sure how I feel about you wanting me for my body.”

“It’s a nice body,” Brendan says, reaching down to pull Ste’s cock out the rest of the way.  “You should be proud of it.”

“How about you show your appreciation by sucking my dick?” Ste suggests, trying to wiggle out of his trousers.

“I’m no contortionist, Steven,” Brendan says, and helps Ste lose the boxers and the jeans.  “Don’t think that’s gonna happen.  But we _can_ do this.”

Brendan sits up enough to wrestle with his belt and tug his own trousers down low enough to get his dick out.  The first few strokes to it have Ste licking his lips.  He’s so obvious, eyes trained on Brendan’s hand as it jerks back and forth.

Brendan wonders if he could get Ste to beg for it like he used to beg for a fix.  He wants to be what Ste craves all hours of the day, wants to go to sleep knowing that Ste will be there when he wakes up in the morning. That wild look in Ste’s eyes gives him hope that maybe, just maybe, that could be a reality.

Enough thinking about _maybes_ for now, though.  Brendan spits in his hand and slicks their cocks with it.  “No lube.  Gonna have to make due.”

Ste frowns.  “Thought you’d have planned for this.”

“Seriously, Steven?”  Brendan pauses with his dick still in his hand.  “I’m picking you up from rehab, remember?  Wasn’t expecting to dick you in the back of my car.”

Ste snorts out a giggle.  “Who even talks like that?”

Brendan releases his cock, pleased that he’s hard enough for it to stand to attention without help, and crosses his arms.  “You really complaining about my word choice right now?”

“ _Dick me_ ,” Ste rolls his eyes.  “Between that and the tashe, I’m starting to wonder if the 70s porn star thing is on purpose.”

“Little shit,” Brendan growls.  He dips down to suck hard into the skin of Ste’s neck – hard enough to bruise – and Ste lets loose another one of those airy giggles.  Ste laughing and thrashing giddily and nudging his hard-on against Brendan’s, this is something Brendan used to doubt he’d ever get to see.  But those giggles dissolve to moans once Brendan gets one of his hands around both of their dicks and starts stroking.  It’s nowhere as good as fucking, but there’s still a strange thrill to knowing his cock is nestling in against Ste’s.

Brendan thrusts forward and imagines pushing straight into Ste’s hole.  It’s not the same, but this will have to do for now.  Spit and precome don’t make for the best lube, and the rough drag feels appropriate given the desperation.

The car is shaking now, suspension bouncing a little with their movements.  Brendan is well into adulthood for fuck’s sake, old enough to father two kids, and here he is having a grope and a rut in the backseat.

At least it’s his own car.

“Wanna ride you,” Ste mutters, voice breathy.  “Proper, like.  I used to think about it.  If I couldn’t get off with… other guys, I’d think about shoving you down and riding you till you were a mess, right, all marked up underneath me.”

“You already have, Steven,” Brendan mutters, still mouthing at Ste’s neck.  Those bruises are going to be fun to explain to Chez and Lynsey.  “Remember?”

“Not the way I want to, though,” Ste threads his fingers through Brendan’s hair, gently pulling him up enough to look him in the eye.  “Wanna tie you down if I have to, just sit on your cock and ride you hard till you’re all worked up enough to come hard inside me.”

“ _Jesus_.” Ste is trying to kill him.  He has to be.  Brendan grasps his thigh and tries to pull their pelvises closer, just to feel that much more friction.  He’d meld with Ste given the chance, anything to get _closer_.

“Can I do that?” Ste begs, and Brendan almost loses it right there.  “Would you let me?  Because I know guys like you, always gotta be in control.  But I wanna make you feel good, Bren, just wanna make you feel good.”

How much of this is Ste’s days as a whore talking is hard to tell.  It sounds like something a whore would say, but that might just have something to do with how filthy this boy is.  Brendan lifts his head to get a look at him, _has_ to look at him when he sounds so wrecked.

The ring of blue in Ste’s eyes has shrunk to almost nothing.  Those pupils are black and blown, but it’s not from the chemicals in his blood.  No, this time it’s Brendan, all Brendan, and this time it’s Brendan who is high off of it.

“I’d let you do anything to me,” he says, breath stuttering in his throat, and he’s afraid that he might actually mean it.  “Anything as long as it’s you.”

Ste goes a little wild at those words, writhing and whimpering like Brendan’s actually fucking him instead of just jacking the too-dry friction between their cocks.  Brendan spits in his palm and adds it to the lot, savoring the wet sounds his hand makes as it furiously works across their cocks.

The man knows just how to fine tune the sounds in his throat to get Brendan riled up.  Just hearing him panting and moaning and gasping has Brendan dangerously close already.  He wants to make this last, _really_ wants to make it last, but he knows he can’t after all these months.  He chases that pleasure, jerking his own dick more than Ste’s, and waits for his orgasm crash over him.

It’s selfish, but Brendan can’t be arsed to care when he’s this close.  When it hits him, he doesn’t bother to bite off the strained groans that spill out of his mouth.  It’s been too long, and seeing Ste’s shocked expression as his stomach is covered is too much to not succumb.

Brendan ends up panting heavily and gripping the back of the seat so he doesn’t pitch forward on top of Ste.  His head is bowed and his cross necklace catches the sunlight.  Forgive me father, for I have sinned…

Not the time to think about that.  Brendan looks up to see Ste grinning like the spatter of Brendan’s come across his chest is a first place trophy.  “Been a while, has it?”

Brendan sighs happily.  “A bit.  I only pulled a few times since you got put away in there.”

“You what?” Ste sits up on his elbows, eyes wide.  “Behind my back?”

“Jesus,” Brendan breathes out a laugh.  “I don’t remember us buying promise rings.”

“But you’re not gonna do that anymore, right?” Ste asks.  He sounds genuinely hurt, and Brendan fights the urge to laugh again.

“We’ll see,” Brendan wraps his hands around Ste’s skinny hips and tries to drag him into a sitting position.  “Scoot up.”

Ste shimmies a bit until he’s almost upright, but he looks confused.  “What for?”

"Changed my mind," Brendan says.  “Gonna suck you off.”

“Oh,” Ste grins, “Alright.”

“But first,” Brendan mutters, and bends down to lap up his own come from off of Ste’s belly.

“Bren!” Ste yelps, and what, _now_ he’s blushing?

“Problem, Steven?” Brendan asks, licking a stripe up to Ste’s nipple.

“That’s dirty,” Ste says, but he’s grinning.  It’s rich, coming from him.

“You should be used to treatments like this,” Brendan says, not knowing and not caring whether or not it’s appropriate to talk about that right now.  “On account of your previous employment.”

To his surprise, Ste laughs.  “You clearly have no idea what it was like.”

“Yeah?” Brendan looks up at Ste.  “Educate me.”

Ste’s grins wickedly.  “Finish cleaning your mess up, and I’ll show you.”

Brendan’s cock gives a pathetic twitch at the command in Ste’s voice.  Anyone else and Brendan would set them straight, show them that there’s only one bloke who’s going to be giving orders around here.

But Ste has made a habit of being the exception lately, hasn’t he?  Silently, Brendan leans back down to lick up the rest of his come until Ste’s belly is clean of it.  Then, without a warning, Ste drags Brendan up and licks his way into his mouth, lapping up whatever come Brendan didn’t manage to swallow.

When Ste pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark.

“That’s something I never done with a client,” he pants, “And never would no matter how much they wanted to pay me.  Because there were rules that I got to lay down.  Pay me for a blowjob, fuck me as hard as you can.  But if I didn’t wanna do something, it weren’t gonna happen.”

Things are starting to fall into place in Brendan’s head.  Where everyone else sees blushing demure Ste, Brendan gets snarling and snarky Ste.  Given the choice, Brendan would take his Ste any day.

“So stop talking about us like it’s the same thing, alright, cause it isn’t.”

Brendan opens his mouth, but he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say to that.  Some part of him wants to say something sarcastic like  _why thank you, Steven, nice to know_.  Or something possessive like _they’ll never have you again, Steven, not while I’m around_.

He settles for, “I’m gonna suck your dick now, Steven,” and Ste looks more than okay with that.

There’s a lot he wants to do with Ste, an entire body he wants to explore, but they’re already far enough off schedule for the day.  Gotta get a move on.  With less build up than he’d like, Brendan wraps his lips around Ste’s cock and starts working it with his mouth.  He’s not messing about right now, not trying to tease.  He takes it straight down until there’s nothing left to take.  Ste isn’t enormous, but he sure as hell isn’t small.  He’s a good size, the kind of size that fits just right.  The weight of it on Brendan’s tongue is almost enough to get him hard again.

When he looks up, Ste has his fingers in his mouth.  Brendan is tempted to pull off and make some rude remark about giving him something else to suck, but then Ste pops those wet fingers out of his mouth and rearranges himself as best he can without dislodging Brendan’s mouth from his cock.

And then his arm reaches behind and under himself, and Brendan understands.

There’s something to be said for Ste’s flexibility.  One foot propped on the armrest console between the front seats and one arm twisted under his body, and he manages to push a spit-slicked finger into his hole.  Brendan is seriously kicking himself for not having the foresight to carry lube with him at all times when he’s around Ste.  

The angle is awkward, everything they do back here is awkward, but they make it work until Ste is steadily pumping two fingers in and out of himself while Brendan sucks him down from tip to root.

He’s loud up there, and Brendan is close to praying that nobody drives by.  Brendan hears a thud then – probably Ste’s free hand shooting up to brace against the roof of the car.  His hips start rolling as well as they can from this angle as he babbles, “Wanna do this to you, get you all worked up and let you come in my mouth.  Thought about it when I was in there – thought about you a lot.  Wish you would have come by more.  Could have snuck off, us.  Could have fucked you there instead of making me wait, you prick–”

All the while his fingers keep pumping and Brendan keeps sucking.  It doesn’t take much more – it never does with Ste if Brendan really puts his mind to it – and then he’s coming with an open mouthed cry and a tension in his thighs that uncoils in an instant as he collapses back down.

Brendan swallows it all down to make sure it doesn’t drip and stain the seats.  When he pulls off, they’re both breathing hard with red cheeks and red mouths.  Soreness is already settling into Brendan’s shoulders and back, but this was worth it.

Then Ste breaks into a fit of giggles, and Brendan feels a little put-off.  “What?”

“We just did that.”

“Well, yeah,” Brendan sits up as far as he can.  “You’ve never had a romp in the back seat before?”

Ste traces Brendan’s lower lip with his pointer finger.  “Didn’t exactly get the five star treatment from clients, did I?”

“You’re not going to be doing that anymore, though,” Brendan growls.  He doesn’t even try to fight down the possessiveness  flaring up in him.  “Are you?”

Ste hums and drags his hands down Brendan’s chest.  “Made good money, didn’t I?”

“ _Steven_ ,” Brendan warns.  Now that Ste is off drugs and not whoring himself, Brendan’s calling dibs for good.  This is what he’s been waiting for since he met Ste well over a year ago.

“Alright,” Ste grins softly.  “I’ll take the job back at Chez Chez until I find something more permanent.”

“Like what?”

Ste shrugs.  “I want to open a restaurant.”

“A bit much for one little fella,” Brendan says.  “Don’t you think?”

“Okay, maybe a cafe,” Ste says.  “A cozy one, so everyone who leaves your place and winds up with with a raging hangover the next day can come to my place for a nice relaxing little shop.”

Brendan scoffs.  “You trying to steal my clientele, Steven?”

“Nah,” Ste says.  “Just trying to share.”

“Share,” Brendan mutters, drawing circles through the faint hair on Ste’s stomach.  “I told you, I don’t share.”

“You don’t share _me_ ,” Ste says, “But you will share _with_ me.”

Brendan moves his gaze back up to Ste’s face and sees it set hard and stubborn.  And he grins, because this boy is ballsy and brutal and beautiful in a way Brendan never would have thought.

He almost says it then.  Not out loud, but in his head.  He almost says three words to himself that would taste like acid if they found their way to his tongue.

Thankfully, Ste pulls him down for one last kiss, the perfect distraction, before shoving him up and groping around for his trousers.

-

They get home a bit later than expected.

Brendan looks impeccable, but Ste has two red marks on his neck that he can only hide by zipping his jacket up the whole way and keeping his shoulders hunched and still.  Lynsey knows, that much is obvious, and it’s hard to tell if she approves or not.  From the outside, it probably looks an awful lot like taking advantage.

Too bad Ste was the one taking advantage of Brendan’s six months of blue balls and underwhelming one night stands.

The marks are still there the next morning, after Ste stumbles out of Brendan’s bedroom with a few new marks out of sight.  They didn’t fuck, didn’t have the energy for it, but that didn’t stop Brendan from stripping Ste down and exploring his body with the leisure that was lacking in the car.

Those ribs of Ste’s that used to peek out like the bars of a cage are less visible now.  There’s hardly any fat on him, but there’s enough to give him some more softness at his hips.  His shoulders also seem broader, like he’s filling out into his own body.

Ste is concerned it’s not going to stay that way, though.

“Feels wrong,” he says, munching on toast and getting crumbs everywhere.  “Like, I was in there for _forever_ and now I got nowhere to be.”

“We’ll get you to those Narcotics Anonymous meetings,” Brendan says.

“Nar – what?”

“Drugs, Ste,” Lynsey supplies.

“Well then how come they don’t call it that?”

“Because,” Brendan says, “ _Drugs Anonymous_ doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“I think it sounds just fine,” Ste huffs indignantly.

Cheryl tries to rope Brendan into taking him to the meetings, but Ste insists it’s within walking distance.  It’s after the second meeting that Ste comes home and approaches Brendan late at night.  He fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie like he’s nervous.   _Here we go_ , Brendan thinks and prepares himself for whatever Ste has to say.

“So…” Ste leans against the doorframe.  “You’re still selling.”

This was a long time coming.  Brendan doesn’t know what to say to that other than the truth.  “Yes.  But not to you.”

Ste frowns.  “I figured… I dunno, you’d stop after everything.”

“You telling me I should give up on one of my most lucrative side businesses?”

“Would you if I wanted you to?” Ste asks, and Brendan doesn’t have an answer for him.

That night, Brendan is out on the couch.  It’s ridiculous, getting kicked out of his own bed.  Lynsey gives him a sympathetic look in the morning before she leaves.  It’s probably all he deserves.

Ste is moody with him until he gets a call in the afternoon.  It’s from Amy, telling him she has time to bring the kids over for a quick visit.  Brendan wants to tell him no, that they can just meet somewhere else in the village and leave him in peace.

He knows that would land him on the couch again, though.  So he begrudgingly allows it.

Next thing he knows, there are two small children screaming through his flat and a little blond thing that looks like she’s way too smart for these parts glaring Brendan down.

“So you’re Brendan,” she says instead of the traditional _hello_.

Brendan extends his hand.  “And you’re the lovely Amy.”

Her grip is firm and her expression is unwavering.  “Ste told me a lot about you when he was in there.”

That has Brendan feeling oddly self-conscious.  “Really?”

She nods.  Behind them, Ste is giggling and rough housing with the kids, but Brendan feels like he’s not allowed to go near them until he has the okay from their mother.  “He told me that you’re the one who paid for his rehabilitation.”

Brendan shrugs.  “Had the cash for it, so.”

Amy regards him with pursed lips.  “I know what you are, how you made that cash.”

No point in playing dumb anymore.  Brendan drops his voice low and says, “Then you should know that I’m not gonna give him anything else.”

“I don’t like him living with someone like you,” she says, and they’re practically hissing now.  “The last thing he needs is a dealer for a flatmate.”

“I understand your concern, really, I do,” Brendan’s voice is as dry as his patience, “But I didn’t spend money on a rehab just so he could go and cock it up, excuse my French.”

Amy opens her mouth, but then Leah comes barreling into Brendan’s legs to find safety from a determinedly waddling Lucas.  Amy is saying something to Leah, scolding her maybe, but Brendan’s attention is entirely on where Ste is scooping Lucas up into his arms with an exaggerated grunt.

Lucas is giggling and flailing and Ste is trying to get his little arms and legs to stay still.  He looks more like a big brother than a father, he’s so _young_.

He’s snapped out of it when Leah gasps and points at Brendan’s face.  “What’s that?”

Brendan circles his pointer finger around his face.  “It’s my face.”

“No!” she says, and brings her fingers up above her top lip.  Oh.

“It’s a moustache,” Brendan smoothes it down with pride.

She gasps.  “A real one?”

Brendan’s mouth twitches and he kneels down to be level with her.  “You bet.”

“Can I have one?” she asks, and Amy finally ducks her head to hide a grin.  “Daddy can’t grow them cause of his baby face.”

“Oi, Leah!” Ste huffs.  “That’s not very nice!”

“But mummy says so,” Leah stamps her feet.  “And mummy is smart.”

“Ames!” Ste sighs, and Amy just shrugs.

“It _is_ a delicate face, Steven,” Brendan teases.  “Very soft.”

“Yeah, but you like it like that,” Ste shoots back, grinning wide, but immediately freezes.  Fuck.

Brendan has no idea how much Amy may or may not know about their relationship.  Hell, not even Brendan could put to words what they have.  It’s probably best that they keep the flirting to a minimum, though.

Leah senses something has shifted uncomfortably, so she grabs Brendan’s face and turns it toward him.  “It’s okay!  I think my daddy is the most handsomest man alive.”

“What about me?” Brendan asks, mocking offense.

Leah giggles and brings her pointer finger to rest above her lip.  “But the tashe!”

“Now Leah,” Ste gently chides, “His tashe is very nice, don’t you think?”

“It’s funny,” she says, and rubs her hands on it while Brendan puts on his best duck lips for her.  “But it’s special.”

“That’s right,” Ste grins.  “Uncle Brendan likes his special tashe.”

“Uncle Brendan?” Leah turns to give Ste a confused look.  “Is he your brother, daddy?”

“No, sweetie,” Amy says. “Brendan is just a…”

“A special friend,” Brendan says, and quickly corrects himself when he realizes how that sounds.  “Flatmate.  Your daddy lives with me.”

“Like how mummy and daddy used to live together?”

Amy starts to say something, to tell Leah that it’s different, but Ste pipes up before she can get the words out.  “Yeah, something like that.”

“Did you visit him in hospital?” she asks, and Brendan figures she means rehab.

“A few times, yeah.”

“He talked about you,” she says, “But you were never there.”

 _Story of my life, really_ , Brendan thinks.  “I’m a busy man.”

“You should have went more,” she says.  “He was really sad.”

Brendan isn’t sure what to say to that at first.  He settles on, “I’ll try to make it up to him now.”

Lucas starts to get restless again, saving every adult in the room from any prolonged awkwardness.

“Awww,” Amy croons, “Someone’s tired.”

Ste bounces Lucas on his hip and grins down at his sleepy face.  Brendan wonders if this is what they were all like before the shit hit the fan.  He wonders if this is the kind of thing he could be having with Paddy and Declan.

Ste is brighter after the kids visit.  There’s a bounce in his step, a twinkle in his eye, stuff like that.  He’s more playful now, too, getting cheeky with the girls and snapping towels at Brendan when they do the washing up after dinner.  Most importantly, he drags Brendan to bed that night, and the couch goes unused as they roll around in Brendan’s sheets together.

It almost makes Brendan feel guilty about the dealing he’s been doing lately.  Almost, but not quite.

–

It doesn’t last long.  Nothing good ever does really, not with Brendan.  A pounding on the front door in the afternoon when he’s the only one in the flat marks rough times ahead.  Brendan saunters over to the door and looks through the peephole.

What was shaping up to be a perfectly fine day is suddenly ruined.

Danny Houston is a piece of shit.  That much became obvious the moment he first shook Brendan’s hand and called him partner years ago.  He’s the kind of piece of shit that doesn’t come off the bottom of your boot no matter how much you scrape it.

And now he’s standing just outside Brendan’s flat.

There’s two options here: ignore him and hope for the best or open the door and deal with him head on.  Brendan hardly gives it a second thought before he’s pulling the door open just wide enough to stick his face out.

“Danny!” he greets, false enthusiasm coloring his words, “What can I do you for today?”

“I thought we were friends, Brendan,” he says as way of greeting, “I really did.”

Brendan raises his eyebrows.  “Is that so?”

“Friends don’t keep secrets from friends,” Danny rasps.  “And word around town is that _my_ Ste has been having a kip on _your_ sofa since he came back from rehab.”

 _Actually_ , Brendan doesn’t say, _he’s been falling asleep every night in my bed with his pert arse grinding back on my dick._

“We have an arrangement,” Brendan lies instead.  “He owed me, so he’s working for me.  Once he has the cash to move out, he’s gone.”

“He’d be out a lot quicker if you’d let him sell that arse of his for me,” Danny suggests, and Brendan wants to cave his head in for even thinking about that.

“Listen, Danny,” Brendan peers a bit farther out the door and lowers his voice. “He might not look it, but Steven has his talents that _don’t_ involve whoring himself.  Little bastard's a lot more useful to me when he’s not strung out with a stranger’s dick in his mouth.”

“As long as it’s your dick, it’s alright,” Danny leers, “Ain’t that how it goes?”

Oh, _fuck_.

“My dick ain’t got nothing to do with it,” Brendan lies lies _lies_.  “Find another desperate little thing to pimp.  Steven’s not your property anymore.”

Brendan is about to pull back and shut the door when Danny says, “I thought you were a respectable dealer.”

“My clientele suggests that, yeah,” Brendan can’t resist popping back out.  “Maybe you can take a few pointers from me.”

“What kind of a limp-dick dealer sends one of his buyers to _rehab_?”

“I _told_ you,” Brendan hisses, “Ste is more useful to me now that he ain’t a lowlife junkie.”

“More useful than Vinnie?” Danny asks, and Brendan pales.

“Hard not to be,” Brendan says carefully, “On account of him being six feet under.”

“You don’t have the best track record with your boys,” Danny grins.  “Shame if the same thing that happened to Vinnie happened to Ste.”

“Lay a hand on Steven and I’ll cut the damn thing off,” Brendan growls.  This is bad.  Vinnie didn’t have half the connection to Danny that Ste does.  He was just a stupid kid that got in over his head playing big boy games.  Ste is something else entirely.

“You and me are a lot alike, Brendan,” Danny says.  “We don’t like to share our toys.  Just know that if Ste isn’t making me money, he’s losing me money.  I don’t like that.”

“I’ll be sure to relay the message,” Brendan snarks.  “Now I’m gonna have to ask you to kindly _get fucked_.”

The door slams with a satisfying sound that resonates within the silence of the flat.  That probably wasn’t his best move – Danny isn’t exactly the kind of guy you jerk around like that – but goddamn it was worth it.

-

He hunts Ste down first chance he gets, as soon as he’s sure Danny has split.  The boy’s at the club, even though they don’t need to open for hours yet.  Brendan finds him in the cellar taking a smoke break from shifting crates.

“Shit, sorry,” he scrambles to stub the cigarette out.  “I know how you hate it.”

“Don’t bother,” Brendan grunts.  “I’m only popping down to give you something.”

“Oh?” Ste’s eyebrows rise in interest.  “What’ll that be, then?”

“A couple days off,” Brendan says, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet.  “Or weeks, I dunno.  Treat Amy and the kids to a holiday or something, just get lost for a while.”

Brendan smacks Ste in the chest with a wad of notes and walks off.  Ste snaps himself out of his shocked haze and strides after Brendan with purposeful steps.  “Now just wait one second, what’s this all about?”

“Call it charity.”

“From you?”

Brendan stops dead and Ste barrels into him.  “Can’t I do something nice for a flatmate?”

“Fuck you, Brendan,” Ste rubs at his nose.  “Why do you want me gone all of a sudden?  Sick of me already?  Or is it that you got another bloke trailing along now?”

“No, _Jesus_ ,” Brendan pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Danny was asking around about you, okay?  He knows you’re staying at the flat.  I just need some time to sort him.”

“Thanks but no thanks, I handled Danny just fine before,” Ste says, hip practically cocked with the amount of sass in his posture.  “I don’t need your protection.”

“He’s gonna try to rope you back in,” Brendan says.  “And Danny Boy ain’t the type to give up easy.”

“Well too damn bad for him,” Ste says, “Cause I ain’t neither.”

Then he shoves the money back at Brendan and sets his jaw resolutely like he’s saying _what are you gonna do about it_?  In this moment, Brendan realizes that Ste is a stroppy little shit no matter what state he’s in.  Boy’s always been trouble, whether he’s sniffing around the club for his next fix or refusing help out of sheer stubbornness.

And Brendan thinks, maybe this is what drew him to Ste in the first place.  He doesn't like to pass up a pretty face, but that hellfire crackling inside of Ste is something that he’s never been able to resist.

“Alright,” Brendan says, pocketing the cash and straightening up to make him at least feel like he’s gaining some leverage in the conversation.  “Stay if you want.  But swear to me that you won’t go wandering around Danny’s back yard no matter what he offers you.”

“Not exactly tempting, that,” Ste scoffs.  “I didn’t _like_ being a drugged up whore.  At least, not always…”

“ _Steven_.”

“Right,” Ste colors a bit.  “Just saying.  Not keen on losing the right to see the kids again, me.”

“Good boy,” Brendan says, turning on his heel to walk away.  “Now keep your nose clean or I’ll _make_ you take that holiday.”

Ste stops him with a hand on his arm before he can really get anywhere.  There’s mischief in his eyes and Brendan isn’t sure he’s ready to be alone with Ste down here when he’s looking like this. “You weren’t…. _Jealous_ , were you?”

Brendan scoffs.  “What? No.  Just looking out for my staff.  And the girls would personally kill me if anything happened to you.”

“So…” Ste steps closer to him, keeping his eyes low and his voice sweet.  “You wouldn’t be jealous if I went on the pull tonight, found me a nice fit bloke to go home with.”

“Why would you wanna do that,” Brendan asks, refusing to rise to the bait, “When you’ve got everything you need right _here_.”

“Only fair,” Ste grins.  “Seeing as how you went out and got some while I was locked up in there.”

“Would you rather I broke into the rehab center to fuck you while you were admitted?” Brendan asks.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Brendan should have expected that.

“But you can make it up to me,” Ste says, tiptoeing his fingers up Brendan’s chest to hook them in the front of his shirt, “Right now.”

And then Ste’s tongue is in his mouth.

Brendan’s dick kind of overrides his brain, which has been happening a lot lately.  He gets Ste up against a wall and tries to take control, but Ste doesn’t quite let him.

“Uh, uh,” Ste says, shoving Brendan away at an arm’s length.  “There’s something I want to do.  Either we do it, or I do go out and find someone with a nice big cock who will give me what I want.”

He’s playing it up, trying to get a rise out of Brendan, but Brendan won’t crack that easy.  “And what might that be?”

Ste licks his lips.  “Let me suck you off.”

Oh.

Okay.

“Don’t need much convincing on that front,” Brendan says.

“But you gotta promise me something,” Ste says.  “You’re gonna look at me when I do it, alright?  And you’re not gonna call me baby or sweetie or love or anything stupid like that.  Not Ste neither.”

“So what am I supposed to call you then?”

Ste bites his lip.  “Steven.  Just call me Steven.”

Brendan is confused.  “I already do, _Steven_.”

“Yeah,” Ste says.  “I know.”

Brendan’s not gonna pretend to understand.  If that’s the way he wants it, then fine.  “On your knees, Steven.”

Ste drops without a word.

“Good,” Brendan runs a hand through Ste’s hair, tugging just hard enough to get him to look up.  “Gonna get me hard for you?”

“Already half way there,” Ste teases, but he leans forward and works at Brendan’s buckle anyway.  He gets Brendan’s cock out and strokes it until it’s standing at attention and beading precome at the tip.

When Ste darts his tongue out to circle the head, Brendan hisses like he wasn’t expecting it.  Boy’s talented with that tongue of his, that’s for sure.  Once Ste seems happy with the wetness he’s licked up, he takes Brendan down to the root and builds up a steady back and forth, mouth wide and red.

“Oh, fuck,” Brendan breathes, “Look at you, Steven.  Goddamn work of art.”

Ste, always being one to respond well to positive feedback, moans around Brendan’s cock and sucks him harder.  There’s a dull thud as Brendan lets his head fall back against the wall. Any more of this and Ste’s going to suck his brains out.

Thankfully, Ste pulls away before any lasting damage can be done.  But what he says next nearly makes Brendan blow right there.

“Fuck my mouth,” he mutters, lips red and hands squeezing at the tent in his own trousers.  “Come on, Bren.  Fuck me.”

His eyes slip closed and his mouth falls open and how is Brendan supposed to resist something like that?  The first thrust forward gets an uncomfortable sound from the back of Ste’s throat, but they both figure out a smooth rhythm in no time.

“Touch yourself,” Brendan says, voice falling apart.  “Come on, Steven.  Show me how much you like it.”

Ste keeps his jaw slack and fumbles with his trousers, fighting the belt buckle and hastily getting his dick out.  He strokes himself hard and fast, not caring about finesse or tease.  He wants to get off, so he’s getting off.

That’s something Brendan’s always liked about Ste, his resolute determination to go after what he wants.

There are tears of exertion welling at the corner of his eyes now.  Brendan slows down, strokes his hand through Ste’s hair in a way he hopes is soothing, but Ste pulls off and looks up at Brendan.

When he blinks, a tear skids down his red face.  “Don’t stop.”

“You sure?” Brendan asks.  He doesn’t want to push Ste into something that they’re both going to regret.

But Ste just runs the back of his hand over his wet cheek and grins up at Brendan.  “I’m sure.”

“You asked for it,” Brendan growls as he puts his cock against Ste’s lips and thrusts forward.

Ste doesn’t even gag, he just takes it like a champ and goes back to working his own dick hard.

“Fuck, Steven, _fuck_ ,” Brendan groans, snapping his hips harder now and listening to Ste’s whimpers all the while.  He tries to hold on and savor this for just a little longer, but it’s pointless.  Ste lets out a high moan that reverberates in the back of his throat, and Brendan is coming hard down that throat in response.

Ste pulls back with a wet sound and a harsh gasp.  There’s come on his bottom lip and smeared tears drying on his flushed cheeks.  He looks like such a wreck down there with his forehead resting on Brendan’s hip as he jerks himself hard and fast.  His nose is buried in the thick hair surrounding Brendan’s cock and his mouth is wide open as he pants and moans half complete sentences between utterances of Brendan’s name

Right now, he looks like an animal.  So carnal and filthy, like he’d rut against Brendan’s leg if he couldn’t use his hand.  And when he comes, his lips curl into that snarl that Brendan loves so much.

The comedown takes longer than usual.  Something really had Ste riled up.  Brendan stands slumped against the wall and runs his hands through Ste’s hair until Ste finally makes an attempt to rise to his feet.  His knees crack as he stands, and he smiles through a wince.

“I needed that,” he says, helping Brendan back into his trousers.

“We fucked _last night_ ,” Brendan deadpans, and Ste grins impishly at him.

“I’m young, me,” he says.  “Always up for it.”

“Don’t I know it,” Brendan says, and pulls Ste into a slow lingering kiss.  Brendan doesn’t relent even after he pulls back, moving to kiss the sides of Ste’s face and the shell of his ear and the slope of his jaw and the column of his neck.  He hasn’t been in a mood like this for a long time, so ready to lay someone out and just worship every inch of their body even after he’s spent and feeling lazy.

“My kids like you,” Ste sighs, melting into Brendan’s arms.  “And I think Ames might come around, too.”

“And?” Brendan asks, sucking just under Ste’s ear, a notoriously ticklish spot.

“Just saying,” Ste giggles. “It makes me happy.”

“Yeah well,” Brendan pulls back to look at Ste’s face, “I did promise Leah I’d make it up to you for all those times I didn’t visit you in rehab, so.”

Ste grins all crooked and bashful.  His cheeks are still flushed from how into it he was earlier, but that somehow doesn’t make him look any less any innocent in his contentedness and pride.  

He leans forward for a kiss, and his smile spreads straight to Brendan’s face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating earlier than usual because I'm almost finished with the whole thing! Also updated the summary since I actually know what this fic is about now lmao. I hope anyone who's stuck around this long is enjoying it.

“Brendan!” Ste squawks, trying desperately trying to tug his pants up over his arse as Brendan wrestles him back onto the bed.  “I’m gonna be late for one of them meetings!”

“You go to like two a week,” Brendan says into the back of Ste’s neck.  “It’s okay to miss one every once in a while.”

“Getting my three months coin today, though,” Ste boasts.  “Clean and sober – well, clean at least – for three months on the outside.  When was the last time I was clean that long?”

“It was before I knew you, that’s for sure.”

“Oi!” Ste elbows at Brendan.  “Be nice.”

“I’m being honest,” Brendan laughs, flipping Ste and pinning him to the bed.  “But if it matters that much, go and get your fecking coin.”

“Awww,” Ste traces Brendan’s moustache with a fond look about him.  “Thanks for the permission, mother.”

Brendan rolls his eyes.  “The cheek of this one.”

Ste decides the most mature course of action is to nip at Brendan’s chin like some kind of puppy.  Brendan grunts and Ste takes advantage of his surprise to flip them over.

He giggles when he lands on top, so full of himself.  His smile falls when Brendan pushes two hands into his boxers and gropes his arse.  “Bren, stop it!  You have to go to the club and I have to grab a show– _ah_!”

One of Brendan’s fingers slides easily into Ste’s still-wet hole.  “What was that, Steven?  You lost me a bit at the end there.”

“You’re such a prick,” Ste bites his lip as Brendan starts pumping the finger in and out.  “Get off me.”

Brendan decides he’s had enough and pulls out.  Ste’s sigh is equal parts relief and disappointment, but he's got a point.  It’s getting late and they both have places to be.  Afternoon sex is such a time-killer.

“Alright, get up,” Brendan grumbles.  “Better get showered unless you want to spill your guts to a room full of addicts smelling like sex.”

Ste rolls away and drags in a deep breath.  “We make a good smell, though, innit.”

“They might not think so.”

“They’d be daft, then,” Ste says.

“You and your peculiar tastes,” Brendan says, leaning over to steal a kiss.  Ste cups his face and strokes a thumb down his moustache again in a way that’s so stupidly affectionate that Brendan has to pull back before he says something sentimental.

God, they’ve become disgustingly domestic.

“Better get that shower,” Brendan says.  “Or you might be late.”

Ste stretches out and hums.  “Having trouble finding the motivation, me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ste nods.  "Maybe if you give me a hand with it–”

Brendan is tugging Ste to his feet and dragging him into the bathroom before that thought can even finish that thought.

-

Ste doesn’t come home that night.  Brendan doesn’t find out until he stumbles into the flat around three after leaving the club to find his bed empty and cold.

He pretends it doesn’t bother him and crawls under the sheets, inhaling the barely-there lingering scent of their earlier activities.  He doesn’t even want to fuck right now, he just wants to curl around Ste’s body and drift off.  The bed feels harder underneath Brendan, because the extra weight of Ste's body isn't there to make it sag in the middle.  Everything feels tilted, and Brendan realizes with a vague sense of dread that this is the first time since before rehab that Ste has just disappeared from the flat without a word.

The pillow is a poor substitute, but Brendan mashes his face into it and pretends that he can smell Ste on it anyway.

In the morning, he can’t fight the disappointment sinking into his bones when he opens his eyes to find he’s still alone.  Lynsey and Cheryl both mention that they haven’t seen Ste since last night, and their concern is palpable.  Brendan is better at keeping a level head.  Or at least, he’s better at pretending everything is alright.  He can't help the childish flare of anxiety when he thinks that Ste has left on his own volition, or the turning in his stomach when he thinks that Ste has been _taken_.

After two days of sleepless nights on Brendan's end, Cheryl calls the police and files a missing persons report.  She frantically asks around the village, but nobody knows anything about Ste’s whereabouts.  Brendan has an idea about where he’s run off to, but thinking about it makes his head pound.  He won’t go looking for Ste there because he can’t let himself think about Ste back in that place.

That doesn’t stop him leaving voicemails and dropping texts that are never received.

On day five, Brendan sits down at the dining table with a sandwich in one hand and his cell phone in the other.  Twenty-five messages, and not a single one opened.  Brendan decides that if Ste isn’t back by midnight, he’s going over to Danny’s with a goddamn chainsaw if he has to.

When he goes back to his home screen, he notices he has a voicemail.  Brendan hastily plays the message and hears Cheryl’s desperate voice: “Bren, you need to leg it to the hospital right now!  They found Ste, he overdosed and–”

That’s all Brendan needs to hear before he’s grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

-

Brendan storms through the A&E until he finds someone who knows where Ste is.  She points him in the direction of the critical condition wing, and Brendan’s heart nearly stops.  He hurries over, but a nurse intercepts him before he can make it.

“Excuse me sir,” the nurse says, “You can’t be back here.”

Brendan fights the urge to roll his eyes.  “I’m here for Steven Hay, room 5.”

“What is your relation, sir?” he asks, and Brendan really wishes this little bastard would stop talking already.

“What does it matter?”

“It’s standard conduct in dire emergency room situations,” he explains.  “Generally, only relatives are granted access to the patient in this condition, and there's already someone with him–”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Brendan bites out, and shoves on past the nurse to Ste’s room.  He strides purposefully down the corridor, dodging doctors and gurneys and equipment like they’re just more obstacles between him and Ste.

He finds room 5, along with Cheryl sitting on a bench with red eyes.  So they let _her_ back here, but not him?  She turns at the sound of his approaching footsteps, and the grief in her face is replaced by anger.  “You bastard!”

Brendan halts.  “What?”

“How could you do this to him?” she gets to her feet like she’s preparing for a throw-down.  “After how far he’s gotten?”

“Chez, calm down,” Brendan tries to hold her shoulders, but she shrugs him off and gives him a slap.

“It’s an overdose, Bren!”  she’s practically shouting at this point.  “Where did he get it from?”

“I don’t know!” Brendan says, dodging her flailing arms.  “Chez, listen to me, I don’t have anything to do with this!”

“You lied to me before!” she snaps.  "For all I know, you’re lying now!”

“I wouldn’t do that to Steven, okay?”  Brendan says, and he means it.  “Okay?”

Now that her anger is going down, Brendan can see the tears shining in her eyes.  “Then who did?”

Brendan takes a deep breath and tenses his fists, ready to blow.  “I think I know.  I think I can handle this.”

“Bren, stop,” Cheryl grabs him.  “Don’t you go landing yourself in here too!”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, “Let some lowlife dealer get away with letting Steven OD?”

“Bren, they don’t even know if he’s gonna make it!” she rasps, and the tears start flowing.  “You have to stay here for him, you have to stay for _me_!”

She really breaks down then, sobbing right in the middle of the corridor.  Brendan wraps his arms around her and drags her over to the side, out of the way of doctors and stretchers scurrying past like they're racing down a motorway.

 _They don’t even know if he’s gonna make it_ , Jesus fucking Christ.  Brendan denies those words, refuses to let them sink their teeth into him.  He and Ste have dragged each other kicking and screaming too far for everything to go to shit now.

Brendan hasn’t felt this helpless since he was a child and Seamus came knocking.  But he’s not that little boy anymore.  Now he has agency.  He can take care of this.

“If you’re around when he wakes up, tell him I–” Brendan falters, he can’t say it, “Tell him I was never here.”

“What?” Cheryl looks up through mascara bleeding lashes.

“Don’t let him know I was here,” Brendan says.  “I have to take care of something.”

He disentangles himself from her and tries to peek into the hospital room.  All he sees are doctors and machines.  They part for a second and he gets a look at Ste’s pale face adorned with yellowing bruises.  The lifelessness there turns his stomach.

He turns and walks away, shrugging Cheryl’s hands off of him as she shrieks, “Don’t you dare leave us, Brendan!”

“I gotta do this, Chez,” he says, sounding calmer than he feels.  “I’m not letting Steven get fucked up again.”

She calls after him, but he doesn’t turn around.  He won’t be coming back here until he’s got Danny’s blood up to the elbows.

-

Brendan probably could have planned this out better.  Bided his time, waited for Danny to show his face, got a gun at the very least.  But now, he’s standing here in nothing but his leather jacket for armor and a crowbar in his hands.  

It’s already gotten a taste of first blood – the big stupid junkie outside wouldn’t let Brendan in, so he’s got a smack.  Now Brendan’s striding through the hallways of a repurposed bar and hotel he’s only been in twice for poker games.  He sticks to the shadows, avoiding bloodshot eyes and ignoring the sounds of sex coming from some of the rooms.

He hates that he looks like he belongs here.

If memory serves him right, Danny’s office should be right around where he is now.  Brendan tries a few doors, failing to find what he’s looking for, until he reaches the very end of a hallway and hears a muffled voice from behind a plain wooden door.  Brendan turns the handle and heads in.

Danny whips around at the sound of his door being thrown open and gapes at Brendan.  He’s on the phone, and mutters into the receiver, “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Then the call cuts off with a beep, and they’re alone together.  Brendan closes the door and approaches the mahogany desk that separates him from Danny.

“Gotta say, Brendan,” Danny says, “I love what you’ve done with the boy.”

Brendan turns to look at him.  “Pardon?”

“He looks good,” Danny purrs.  It's an ugly sound, from him.  “Filled out nicely while he was away.  That arse of his is gonna pay for my retirement fund.”

“That arse ain’t yours to sell anymore,” Brendan growls.  

“Jealous boyfriend,” Danny laughs.  “That’s never good for business.”

“Ain’t his boyfriend,” Brendan says.  “I’m his employer.  Not you, _me_.”

Danny grins.  “You know what Ste did for me these last few days?  Anything I asked.”

“Cause he was drugged up to his eyeballs.”

“Shame about the overdose,” Danny says.  “But he’ll bounce back.  He always does.”

“Maybe not this time,” Brendan says, spitting acid with every word.  “He’s in the A&E getting his stomach pumped.  They say he might not make it.”

“Awww,” Danny doesn’t look like he’s even trying to be sad.  “That’s too bad.  He was my best whore, I had blokes easily dropping thousands for a night with him.”

Danny’s on the ground before Brendan even processes that he’s swinging.  One solid smack right in the temple.  Brendan can practically feel the throb as he looks down at Danny groaning into the cheap rug.

“Gonna regret that, Brendan,” he spits trying to rise onto his knees.

Brendan kicks him in the ribs and holds him down with a foot on his face.  “Big talk, Danny Boy.  Keep barking and I’ll have to start biting.”

Brendan barks, just a playful little _ruff_ , and laughs when Danny’s fingers scrabble at his boot.

Footsteps, sudden and loud, catch in Brendan’s ears. He steps away from Danny just as the door opens and three confused looking brutes rush in.  Brendan’s fight or flight instinct kicks in and he swings, catching one of them across the jaw and knocking him back.  There are three of them to his one, though, and no matter how hard he fights it, he can’t get the upper hand.  Soon enough, he’s in a headlock with his hands pinned.

“Take him outside,” Danny says, finally back on his feet and clutching his side.  The men obediently drag Brendan out through a series of doors and into an alleyway.  The sun is going down and the redish light of it isn’t reaching this desolate corner of the earth.  Broken glass crunches under Brendan’s boots as he’s manhandled by the brutes.

Danny follows behind them with the crowbar in hand.  He throws it at Brendan’s feet with an ugly grin on his face just before surging forward to land a solid punch to Brendan’s stomach.

“Hurts,” Danny says, “Don’t it?”

Brendan forces a grin.  “Too bad you need the cheer squad here to hold me down while you batter me.”

Danny gives him another smack, and the man standing behind him gets his forearm across Brendan’s throat to keep him from sagging.  His face catches the fist this time, and his tooth catches the inside of his lip hard enough that he spits pink saliva back in Danny’s face.

Danny hits him some more while the three men jerk him about.  Fingers dig into Brendan’s cheek as he’s forced to listen to Danny say filthy things about Ste, how good he looks with a cock in each hand, the way he likes to get fucked with an audience, how the sounds he makes with his mouth stuffed are different whether he’s high or not.

Each word hurts more than the blows, but Brendan doesn’t let that show.  He takes the thrashing and waits for the right moment.  When it arrives, he doesn’t hesitate for a second.

As soon as he can, Brendan sinks his teeth into the wrist of the man behind him – he never said he wasn’t going to fight dirty.  The wail echoes through the alleyway and gives him the precious few seconds of distraction that he needs.

Ducking swiftly as the scene devolves into confusion, Brendan snatches up the crowbar.  He swings it and his heart sings as he catches the side of Danny’s face.  The forked end of the tool sinks into his eye socket with a sickening squelch, and Brendan has never felt more accomplished in his entire life.

The feeling is short lived.  Someone kicks the back of his knee, sending him sprawling to the asphalt.  From down here, he can see Danny fall as well, as two of the three men rush to his side.  The third stays with Brendan, relentlessly kicking him in the ribs.

It should hurt, but Brendan can’t feel it.  He can’t feel anything.

Danny’s wailing in the broken glass and gravel, blood waterfalling from his face.  His hands are soaked with it as he desperately tries to cover the wound.

“Get out!” Danny wails, “Get me out of here!”

“But Brady–”

“Forget Brady! My fucking eye’s caved in!”

Brendan isn’t sure what happens next, or how long it takes to happen.  The man standing over him doesn’t stop kicking him, that Brendan knows for sure.  But after a certain point, the blows stop, and there’s nothing left of Danny in the alleyway but a rapidly drying pool of blood.

Brendan thinks it’s a shame Danny ran off in the state he’s in.  That eye would have made a nice trophy.

-

Waking up in a hospital always fills Brendan with a certain sensation of weightlessness.  The pristine white walls with the purple flower trim that’s been there since the 1960s never quite look real.  It’s make-believe, a carefully constructed lie.

Sometimes Brendan thinks he’d like hospitals better if they didn’t try to make you feel at home.  When he was a kid, nurses would change up his room, tell him they’d do whatever they could to make it feel like his bedroom back at his house.

That’s the last thing he ever wanted.

He’s blinked probably ten times now into the fluorescent darkness.  It’s hard to tell if it’s nighttime or his eyes are just busted.  His eyes.   _Danny’s_ eyes.  Shit, it comes back to him at full speed, and he groans under the weight of what he’s done.  No way in Hell he’d ever take it back, though.  If he could, he’d get a redo.  Take Danny outside and shove him in the car, drive him far away from his hotel and beat him bloody until there’s nothing left of him but a stain.

Twenty blinks later and Brendan is starting to make out shapes silhouetted against the hard light above his head.  One of the shapes blinks back at him, and he nearly rips out the IV in his arm as he jerks away in shock.

“Brendan,” a familiar voice soothes, “Don’t worry, it’s just me.”

“Steven!” Brendan gasps, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ste grins softly.  “Broke out of my wing, didn’t I?”

Brendan falls back against the pillows.  “Scared the piss outta me.”

“Too bad they don’t have you hooked up to a catheter, then,” Ste teases, but his smile is dull and his eyes are tired.  It must be pretty late.

“The only thing worse than toilet humor is hospital toilet humor,” Brendan groans.

Ste has the decency to look sheepish.  “How do you feel, then?”

“Like I got run over by truck.”

“They think you got mugged."

Brendan blinks stupidly.  His brain isn't in top form right now.  “And you don’t.”

“You should have gone to the police,” Ste says, no bullshit.  “You didn’t have to do what you did.”

Brendan sighs.  “Men like me and Danny don’t use the police.”

“And Danny?” Ste asks.  “Is he…?”

“Dead?” Brendan forces out a laugh.  “No.  I think I took his eye out, though.”

Ste hisses through a grimace.  “Had it coming though, didn’t he?”

“He won’t hurt you anymore, Steven,” Brendan promises.  “He can’t.  I won’t let him.”

Ste heaves a sigh.  “You heard about what happened to me then?”

Brendan bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at the thought of it.  “Yeah.  Chez told me.  And Danny.”

Ste visibly shudders.  “Can we not talk about him anymore?  That’s one name I’d be happy to never hear again.”

Brendan nods.  “Hard not to around here though.  Been thinking of taking my business elsewhere.”

Ste snaps his head up.  “You’re leaving?”

“Well,” Brendan fidgets with the line of his IV, “Not right away or anything.  But this place is more of a headache than it’s worth.”

“But, I don’t want you to leave,” Ste says, so quietly that Brendan isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.

A long time ago, Vinnie said the same thing to him at four A.M. the day of Eileen’s birthday.  Brendan rolled his eyes, threw back something about being too clingy, and walked out without another word.  Ste won’t accept that, though.  Ste is too difficult.

So instead, Brendan asks, “Ever seen Dublin, Steven?”

Ste cocks an eyebrow.  “Never been to Ireland, me.”

Brendan frowns in consideration.  “No Danny Houstons in Dublin, far as I know.”

“Sounds like a nice place,” Ste says, grinning tentatively.

“Yeah,” Brendan says.  “Might have to go either way, if things go as planned.”

Ste looks puzzled.  “Why’s that?”

“Gonna finish things with Danny,” he says quietly, almost in a whisper.  “Have to.”

“No,” Ste shakes his head, “Don’t be an idiot about this!  He already landed you in hospital and you bashed his face in, right?  Leave it at that and call it a day.”

“If he ain’t dead,” Brendan swallows, “He could hurt you again.  I’m not gonna let that happen, Steven.”

Ste huffs in agitation.  “I can look after myself.”

“I don’t doubt that, Steven.  Just let me take care of Danny on my own.”

“No!” Ste gets to his feet, leaving Brendan tied down to his bed by broken ribs and needles in his arms. “I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed over this.  Danny is more a part of my life than he ever was yours, okay, because he _owned_ me.”

“And that’s why I gotta get rid of him,” Brendan says.  “I gotta.”

Ste shakes his head.  He looks so far away, at the foot of Brendan’s bed.  Every since he was young, Brendan has been a tactile person.  He uses his physicality to intimidate or seduce or comfort whenever he has to.  But now, with Ste so far away and Brendan practically restrained to the hospital bed, he can’t behave as he normally would.

He settles on words.

“I’ve been hurt before, Steven,” he sighs, looking away self-consciously.  “Badly… Worse than you’d believe.  And for the longest time, I would hurt people before they could hurt me.  It’s just how I’ve always operated.”

Ste looks puzzled, but Brendan powers on.

“When I look at you after Danny’s had his hands on you, I see a lot of myself.  I remember wanting to get out, but I never could.  Nobody would ever help me.  So that’s what this is, me trying to help.  Don’t take it lightly, Steven.  I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.”

“Who hurt you?” Ste asks, surprising Brendan.

“What?”

“Who hurt you?”

Brendan hesitates.  “It’s not important.  This is about you now.”

“Was it Danny?” Ste asks, still prodding.  “You said he killed your boyfriend, right?”

Brendan barks out an empty laugh.  “What Danny did hardly registered.  I stopped having nightmares about Vinnie a long time ago.”

Ste’s brow creases.  “But you still have nightmares about something else.”

“Everyone has nightmares,” Brendan shrugs.  “Even bad men like me.”

“Don’t say that,” Ste rushes to Brendan’s side, sitting gingerly on the hospital bed.  “Danny is a bad man, you’re not.”

“I’m the same as him,” Brendan says, batting away the hands that are trying to cup his cheeks.  “I’m bad for you, Steven.”

“You’re _not_ , alright,” Ste’s voice is thick and his eyes are shining, “And if you’re doing this thing with Danny, I’m doing it too.”

“The point is to keep you out of trouble, not to drag you deeper,” Brendan says, but Ste shakes his head.  There’s just no winning with this boy.  Brendan almost recoils when Ste leans over his battered body and plants a hard kiss on his mouth.

“I love you,” Ste croaks, and Brendan releases a jagged breath as his throat tries to seal itself shut.

“No you don’t,” Brendan shoves Ste away.  “You can’t.”

“You don’t get to tell me that, Brendan!” Ste says, digging his palms into his eyes to stop the flow of tears.  “And nothing you’re gonna say will change anything, alright?”

“Vinnie said the same thing to me,” Brendan says, trying to sound nonchalant, “And we both know how that turned out.”

“I’m _not_ Vinnie!” Ste barks, eyes wild. “I don’t know what he was to you and I don’t care anymore.  Because this right here?  It’s between you, me, and Danny.  And I’m not gonna stand around while you two faff about and fail at killing each other over me like I'm some kind of prize.  I am _not_ your trophy, Brendan.”

That’s it.  Brendan snaps and drags Ste close by the front of his gown, ready to batter him if he opens his mouth again.  Because this is how he does things.  Someone tries to get inside his head and he forces them out before they can touch those ugly raw parts of him.  But Ste knocks their foreheads together and shakes his head.

“Please,” he breathes, and Brendan doesn’t know exactly what he’s being asked.

With the hand that isn’t still twisted in the hospital gown, Brendan reaches up and gently wipes away the tears on Ste’s face.  “I think it’s about time you go back to your room now, don’t you?”

“And _I_ think it’s time you shut up and listen to me for once,” Ste sniffles, very attractive.  “Don’t you?”

“You’re such a little shit,”  Brendan grumbles, and Ste quirks his mouth like that was a compliment.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “But you kept me around all this time anyway.”

“What can I say?” Brendan lets his grip on Ste’s hospital gown become slack, “I’m a slave to your boyish wiles.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I’m going to pretend it’s good,” Ste says and kisses him again.  Brendan lets it happen because he was only half joking, he’s so weak when it comes to Ste.  Even the warm wetness of the leftover tears aren't putting him off, but he knows they can't do this here.  He tries to stop things from getting any farther, and predictably fails. Ste is persistent tonight.

“We’re gonna,” _a kiss_ , “Get caught,” _a nip on his lower lip_ , “And arrested,” _a tongue in his mouth_ , “For public,” _mmph_ , “Indecency.”

Ste pulls back the whole way and looks at Brendan with a resolute set to his face that shows he's not going to back off.  “If we were gonna get in trouble for that,” he says, “It would have happened ages ago.”

“Just because they didn’t catch us the first time doesn’t mean we got a Get Out of Jail Free card.”

“So then we gotta be quick,” Ste says, and dives in for more with the sort of enthusiasm that Brendan would have loved if he wasn’t all busted up.  Brendan grunts in pain, Ste pulls back immediately.  
  
“ _Ribs_ ,” he gasps, voice strained.

“Shit, sorry,” Ste says, ghosting his hands over Brendan’s bandaged abdomen like that’s going to help anything.  “But… This ain’t broken, right?”

Ste reaches down to palm Brendan’s cock where it’s beginning to rise.

 _"Steven_ ,” Brendan warns wrapping a hand around his wrist.

“You think I’m dirty, is that it?” he asks, but his voice is strong and insistent with no trace of frailness or doubt.  “I let all them men pass me around, and now you won’t touch me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brendan says.  “That never stopped me before.”

Ste gasps, kiss-swollen lips wide, but there’s a gentle mockery in his eyes.  He shoves at Brendan’s shoulder, softly as to not cause any more pain.  “There’s a backhanded compliment if I’ve ever heard one.”

“We’re lucky a nurse hasn’t already walked in,” Brendan tries to steel himself against the temptation glowing in Ste’s flushed cheeks.  “I’m all busted up and you were crying your eyes out ten minutes ago.”

“Only cause you’re a dickhead,” Ste says, and this boy sure knows how to flirt.

“Thank you, Steven, for yet another flattering bit characterization.”

Ste rolls his eyes, and then rolls his hips.  “Come on, just a quickie.”

“You really want it?” Brendan asks, allowing his resolve to shatter shamelessly as he runs his free hand up Ste’s thigh.  Ste just lets his eyes slip closed and answers with a nod.  Okay, so hospital gowns might not be the sexiest garment ever, but at least they allow for easy access.

Ste curls up on the bed next to Brendan, shimmying in as close as he can without putting weight on Brendan’s ribs.  He sighs happily when Brendan grasps his cock with the hand not all tied up to IVs and machinery.

Their kisses are gentler than they’ve ever been, all wet and feather-soft.  Mouths slide together with a sort of natural ease that has them forgetting that they’re defiling a poor hospital bed.

“Think I’m still gonna be pretty when all this heals?” Brendan asks, can’t help the self-consciousness.  He’s referring to the ache in his face that no doubt sports a nasty cluster of bruises.  Ste answers with more kisses, light but attentive things ghosting over the sore spots of his face.

Brendan strokes him hard and fast – they don’t have time for much more.  It’s honestly a wonder they haven’t been caught already.  He practically works himself to carpal tunnel, wrist cramping after a while, but it’s okay.  He’s swallowing every single one of Ste’s breathy whimpers like the boy is breathing life back into his lungs.

And when Ste comes, it’s all over the inside of his gown and Brendan’s hand.  They didn’t have the foresight to grab a tissue or something, so Ste shakes apart against Brendan’s side and makes one hell of a mess at the same time.

Once his breathing levels out and they’ve mopped up the worst of his come with a scratchy tissue, Ste palms Brendan’s cock.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Brendan says.  “We’re pushing it as-is.  Besides, if I had an orgasm right now I might hurt myself even more.”

Ste looks completely heartbroken and Brendan actually finds it in himself to laugh.  Then, as if on cue, a nurse walks in and nearly shits themselves when they see Ste draped over Brendan’s body, hospital gown hiked up to his waist and briefs riding low on his hips.

They manage to sweet-talk their way out of a fine or a lawsuit, but Ste is still sent packing back to his room with a sheepish grin and one last wink in Brendan’s direction.

By the way, when Brendan _does_ come in his own hand later that evening once the nurse leaves and things quiet down in his room, he doesn’t hurt himself.  It rolls through him like a thunderstorm miles and miles away, the kind that are far enough over the horizon to sound soft and inviting.  The kind that lulls you to sleep.  It's probably the thought of Ste grinning on his knees in a flat in Dublin overlooking the Liffey that softens the blow.

 _Soften_.  Perfect word, really.  Brendan’s never been softer right now.  This isn’t like with Vinnie.  At this point, he thinks he’d die for Ste.  He’d sure as Hell kill for him, will kill for him.  He’s got it all planned out.

Is it a healthy mindset? Fuck no.  Is it love, regardless?  Brendan refuses to answer that, which leaves room for nothing but a big fat unequivocal _yes_.


	11. Chapter 11

To his annoyance, Brendan has to stay in the hospital longer than Ste.  No matter how much he asks, he can’t convince Lynsey to pull strings and scratch backs and all that fun stuff.  So he’s stuck in the hospital for about a week while they poke and prod him and tell him everything he already knows.

When he goes home, it’s with a few broken ribs and a prescription that he throws away the second he steps through the door. At least he still has both of his eyes, unlike a certain Daniel Houston.  Upon returning home he’s also greeted with the knowledge that a decision has been made without consulting him, and he’s just going to have to deal with it.

“Did Lynsey tell you, then?” Ste asks, making Brendan something to eat.  He does everything for Brendan anymore, on account of the broken ribs, even when Brendan tells him not to.

Brendan sighs from his place on the couch.  “About you galloping off back to the countryside to soak in the sunshine at rehab again?”

“Yep,” Ste says, taste-testing a spoonful of something with a carefree slurp, “What do you think?”

“I thought they already fixed you once,” Brendan grunts.

“It’s not like they just got rid of it,” Ste says.  “I get cravings every day.  Sometimes I think it would be fine to go out and get some more.  Sometimes I think I’m gonna die if I don’t."

“Well in that case,” Brendan tries to shrug off the load Ste just dropped on his shoulders, “I suppose you should go back for a while.  I’ll send you a card, one of them pop-up things that plays music.”

“Why are you being such an arse about it?” Ste asks, banging the spoon against the pot to get the drippings off.  “I told you, I’m gonna pay you back.”

“Poor little bedridden me,” Brendan sighs again.  He knows he’s being grumpy but he doesn’t care. “I’m sure I’ll find some way to amuse myself for God knows how long you’re going to be gone for.”

“Alright, Brendan,” Ste starts fire in his voice, “If I go back in there and hear about you picking up another bloke while I’m gone, we’re done.”

Well, this is out of nowhere.  “Excuse me?”

“If you’re gonna treat me like one of your throwaways, you’re not gonna get me at all.”

Brendan realizes what’s going on.  “You asking me to go steady, Steven?”

“Yeah,” Ste says, challenging Brendan to step up, “I am.”

“Don’t know if you haven’t noticed,” Brendan says, trying to sound cocky even though his ribs are killing him and he’s practically winded by this short argument, “But I’m not exactly the going steady sort.”

Ste turns the heat down on the stove and strides over to Brendan with sure steps.  “I’m not a whore anymore,” he says, leaning close to Brendan, “And I’m not really into being friends with benefits.  So if you want more of this–”

A kiss, finally, hard and deep.  Ste’s making gravy over there, Brendan can taste it.

“–You’re gonna drop the casanova lady’s man or man’s man or whatever bullshit.  So what do you say to that, Brendan?”

Brendan pauses.  He’s not really listening as well as he should be, but in his defense Ste’s lips are distracting.  “I think the gravy needs more salt.”

Ste rolls his eyes.  “I’m serious, Brendan!”

“I suppose I can behave myself,” Brendan murmurs. “After all, there’s only so much I can do with broken ribs.”

“Don’t make leash you,” Ste taunts with the sort of boldness that Brendan’s shags have lacked in the past.  But then, Ste isn’t just a shag, is he?

“You’d look better with a collar,” Brendan teases in return.  Ste huffs and storms back into the kitchen, but Brendan can tell he’s fighting a smile.  The gravy, once it’s done, is just salty enough.

When the day comes for Ste to be readmitted into rehab, Brendan still hasn’t been given the clearance to drive.  That sets him at ease, the assurance that he won’t have to watch Ste disappear into that pristine white building again.

Before Ste sets off, he corners Brendan in the bedroom and covers him in kisses.   _One for the road,_ he says, and one turns to ten quickly.  Ste’s hands ghost over the still-sore parts of Brendan’s torso, but Brendan holds his roaming hands still and puts on his Serious Talk face.

“Not that I’m in a hurry to break my oath of celibacy or anything,” he starts, and Ste rolls his eyes, “But I feel like this is what it’s going to be like with us.  You know, the thing we have–"

“A relationship,” Ste supplies.

“A… Yeah.  Relationship.  I don’t know if I can give you something normal.”

“What’s normal, anyway?” Ste shrugs.  “Normal for me used to be getting fucked for drugs money.  I think I’d rather take this any day, thanks.”

Brendan takes a moment to work up his nerve before admitting, “I’m not a good man, Steven.  You know that.”

“You’re better than you give yourself credit for,” Ste smiles softly.  “And I’m not exactly a model citizen either, innit?”

Brendan can’t help but grin.  “Well then, _partner_ , I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“One quick thing,” Ste brandishes a finger in Brendan’s face.  “Can I tell them you’re my boyfriend?”

Brendan opens his mouth to shoot Ste down, but something stops him.  The way Ste bounces on his heels, or maybe it’s the gleam in his eye.  Either way, Brendan sighs and mutters, “Tell them whatever you want.”

Ste grins that wide childish grin and pulls Brendan into a solid kiss.  Brendan returns the grin before he even knows he’s doing it.

Later, after Ste has been carted back off to rehab, Lynsey comes home with mischief in her smile.  “Got a call today, your _boyfriend_ wanted me to know he made it to the rehab center okay.”

Motherfucker.

Word travels fast in this village.  It's like there’s nothing to do here but gossip about the goings-on of other people’s lives and god knows how many people Ste told.  Brendan can imagine it now, that thick accented voice coming out of that proudly beaming mouth as he says _my boyfriend, Brendan_.

Back when they met, he’d have battered Ste for that.  But Ste’s battered himself enough this past year alone.  Brendan doesn’t know if he has it in him anymore.

Ste’s stay at rehab isn’t nearly as long as last time.  It’s mostly to get his head on straight again after a devastating relapse.  Brendan visits him more this time, to Leah’s delight.  He even drives Amy and the kids over one week, suffering through an agonizingly awkward car ride so Ste can see his kids.

When it gets out to Leah that Brendan is Ste’s boyfriend, as in _boyfriend_ boyfriend, she takes it much better than anyone expected.

“So this means I _can_ grow a tashe!” she exclaims, and Brendan’s heart thaws a little.

“No, sweetie,” Amy tries to stifle her giggles.  “It just means that daddy and Brendan are together – as in, like how me and daddy used to be.”

“Oh,” Leah says, like she’s just figured out the whole riddle.  “So you’re in _love_.”

She whispers the word like it’s a secret, and Brendan stammers stupidly.

“When you get married,” she cuts him off, “Can I be the flower girl?”

Brendan nearly chokes on his own saliva.  Thankfully Ste is there to diffuse the tension.  “Me and mummy didn’t get married, did we?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t marry Daddy Brendan.”

“Uncle,” Brendan corrects her.  It sounds less obvious.  “Uncle Brendan.”

But she’s stubborn, like her dad.  “You’re not daddy’s brother.  Your daddy’s boyfriend, which makes you my daddy, too.”

Brendan can’t bring himself to correct her again.

Ste makes Brendan give him a parting kiss, even with Amy and Leah and Lucas standing right beside them.  Most of the staff are used to it nowadays.  Some of them even wolf whistle, which leaves Brendan absolutely mortified.

He tries to put Ste off, but Ste pulls out one hell of a pout that has Brendan rolling his eyes and granting a quick kiss.  Amy purses her lips in what could be amusement or annoyance, Leah and Lucas make gagging sounds, and Ste beams brighter than the gleam of the cross resting against Brendan’s chest.

On the drive back, Amy is more open to conversation.  She speaks pleasantly enough, but everything she says seems to be wrapped up in code.   _Terrible what happened to Ste, can you believe someone would sell him that much?  I didn’t know there were so many suppliers in the village, poor Ste was bound to relapse eventually, living around so much of it._

Brendan gets the picture already.

When he drops them off at their flat, Amy spares him a polite goodbye and Lucas flops his hand around in what Brendan assumes is a farewell gesture.  Leah demands a hug, though, and Brendan scoops her up into his arms while Amy waits patiently and watches closely.

Brendan knows that she’s being kinder to him than he deserves.

Cheryl gets on his case, too, with pursed lips and raincloud eyes.  Things come to a head when she catches Brendan with the safe open and he scrambles to block it with his body like a child caught with his hand down his pants.

It’s not embarrassment that stains his cheeks red as he huffs after her with explanations dropping from his tongue like fresh bullshit.  It’s shame, he realizes, with a sour pang in his gut.  He’s ashamed.

“I thought _you_ of all people would give it up,” she says.  “After what happened to Ste, it only makes sense.”

“What happened to Ste had nothing to do with me,” Brendan mumbles.  He knows he should count himself lucky that Cheryl is even still talking to him.

“It had _everything_ to do with you!” her thunderous voice pins him to the spot he’s rooted to in the middle of the floor.  He feels like he’d have to ask permission to move.

“Chez, I promise on my kid’s lives that I won’t deal to Ste,” Brendan tries, “Never again.”

“Brendan, your boyfriend almost _died_ ,” she’s finally shouting, using that word _boyfriend_ like a weapon.  “Grow up already!”

She storms away from Brendan, leaving him standing in the middle of the club with a sickening ache in his chest.

Brendan spends the day shooting off texts, cancelling drops and finalizing the ending to things.  He can’t believe he’s letting Ste influence his life like this.  The word _whipped_ comes to mind.

There will be whispers, he knows.  Brendan Brady, pulling out of the game for good.  What is wrong with him?  Brendan almost falters once or twice, but the lock screen on his phone guilt trips him into going through with it.

Those people muttering in hushed tones, Danny likely to be among them, probably don’t have any pictures of Ste on their cellphones.  

They probably don’t scroll through the ducklip selfies taken from behind the bar, the pictures of Ste and Lynsey with ice cream on their noses and teeth-baring laughter in their faces, the early-morning shot of Cheryl with no makeup that Brendan swore he’d use as blackmail but really never would, the occasional pictures taken late at night in bathroom stalls and under the covers when Ste and Brendan were apart, darkness accentuated by the camera flash as Ste tugs his boxers low enough to show off the root of his hard cock like it’s a prize to be won once they come back together again.

Those men who whisper in the shadows aren’t as soft as Brendan Brady, with his abundant weaknesses.  His sister who can’t keep her mouth shut, his pretty flatmate who’s too smart for her own good, his boyfriend who couldn’t stay out of trouble if they locked him up at that rehab center forever.

If this is weakness, Brendan Brady will take it.

Ste gets home about a week after Brendan’s doctor declares him fully healed.  They don’t break the bed, but they come pretty damn close.

After, when Ste is covered in pretty red marks and the shine and smell of sweat, they look each other in the eye and start laughing for no reason other than they’re _happy_.  Honest to God happy in a way that is still foreign and frightening to Brendan.  They’ve both been beaten down and abused by big men who think they’re hot shit, but nobody can take this from them.

It doesn’t matter how many men Ste’s had, or how badly Seamus fucked Brendan up all those years ago.  Danny isn’t here, Seamus isn’t here, it’s just Ste and Brendan wrapped up in each other.  Nothing about it feels like weakness.  It feels like fortitude, like the big bad wolf wouldn’t even _dream_ of blowing this house down.

-

Of course, their golden age runs out eventually.

When it happens, Brendan doesn’t even expect it.  Danny’s been hiding for a long time, and it turns out Brendan doesn’t have to look for him.  Shithead practically drops on his doorstep wrapped in a bow.

After the initial confrontation, word on the street was that Danny Houston was pulling out.  Not the whole way, of course, just enough that he could still run things in the state he was in.  Everybody knew that someone mashed up his face and nearly caved in his skull, but nobody but those three men and Danny himself know it was Brendan.

There isn’t much warning when he comes back.  It’s been about a month since Ste got out of rehab and things are finally becoming calm again.  Brendan thought Danny had give up.  Wrong.  Very fucking wrong.

He’s getting ready to lock up the club one night as the the sun stains the horizon pink and the moon still hangs low opposite that gentle glow.  Just as he pulls the keys out of his pocket, there’s a sudden rattling in his brain as something hits the back of his head, and that’s it, Brendan’s out.

When he comes back around to the sound of Danny’s voice, it takes him about thirty seconds to realize he’s tied to a post in the cellar.  Classy.

Even with a bitch of a headache and fatigue from the long night messing with him, Brendan can tell Danny is getting sloppy.  There are a couple fundamental errors in his plan, like the fact that he didn’t even bother taking Brendan somewhere that people _wouldn’t_ easily find him, or the fact that the three men he has with him are so clearly fucked up on god knows what that Brendan could probably just confuse them to death.

“Brendan,” Danny rasps, and his voice is brittle and thin.  These last few months have not been kind to him.  “Glad to see you’ve finally joined us.”

“You know me,” Brendan slurs.  “Never one to miss a party.”

Danny laughs like he’s trying to cough his lungs up.  “Ain’t no party here.  I’m just finishing up a financial transaction between the two of us.”

“Till’s upstairs, Danny Boy.”

“Nah, I’ve been thinking I ought to sell that arse of yours,” Danny says.  “In exchange for Ste’s, since you stole him from me.”

It’s an empty threat that makes Brendan feel like he wants to puke regardless.  “Good luck.  I ain’t pretty enough for that line of business.”

“No, you’re not,” Danny grins.  “Nobody in their right mind would shag that.  You’re more damaged than your boy Steven, and that one was an honest-to-god nutter.”

“Steven’s got more smarts than the lot of you combined,” Brendan hisses.  “Not that it’s a particularly difficult feat.”

Danny laughs, inviting the other three men to laugh stupidly with him, and then Brendan feels the sudden sting of something smacking him square in the face.  When he blinks away the stars in his vision, he sees a tire iron in Danny’s hand.

Great.

They take turns whacking him like he’s a piñata full of hard drugs.  He refuses to scream, just spits in their faces and takes the abuse like it’s nothing.  All he can think the entire time is _, at least they don’t have Steven._

They get bored quickly.  The wrist bindings are cut, and Brendan is dragged to his feet and held against the wall by the throat.  

“Don’t know what all these lads see in you, Brendan,” Danny sneers in his face.  “Then again, Vinnie had the brains of a brick wall and Ste’s an addle-brained junkie.”

“Vinne was just a kid,” Brendan says, gathering pink-tinged saliva in his mouth and waiting for his vision to line back up so he can aim directly for Danny’s remaining eye.  “And Steven, well.  I wouldn’t underestimate a bloke like him if I was you.”

Danny grins like he’s going to eat Brendan alive.  “It’s gotta be hard for you, Brendan, knowing he’s been stuffed with every cock from here to London, and he _loved_ it.”

And then Brendan spits straight into Danny’s bulging eye – perfect aim.  He takes advantage of Danny’s shock by throwing a punch that lays him out.  The other men in the room swarm Brendan mindlessly, holding him down and kicking the shit out of him.

Worth it.

Danny is in bad shape down there on the dirty cellar floor.  Brendan keeps an eye on him struggling to his feet even as he gets socked in the gut.

The atmosphere suddenly shifts when rapidly approaching footfalls ring out in the small space.  “What do you think you’re doing?” a voice booms, and if Brendan wasn’t already in love with Steven Hay, he would have fallen right then and there.  

The room dissolves into chaos just around the time Brendan hears something shatter.  He realizes as soon as he spins on his heel to throw a punch at the man behind him that Ste has broken a bottle over someone’s head.

Two desperate dirty fighters versus three drugged up thugs are better odds than Brendan expected.  Ste gets a solid kick to his stomach at one point, but he uses his teeth and his fists and whatever he can find lying around to fight back with everything he’s got.  Brendan has an easier time, he’s not even close to fucking around right now.

While Ste takes care of the last nameless arsehole, Brendan strides over to where Danny is trying to crawl his way out of the cellar.  A kick to the stomach to turn him over, and Brendan is on him.  Danny’s tire iron finds it’s way to Brendan’s hand, and he swings and swings until Danny’s face is an unrecognizable mess of red pulp and there’s brain and blood spattered across Brendan’s chest and hands.

It’s only when he feels Ste’s arms around him, tugging him back and away from Danny’s body, that Brendan relents.

“When you didn’t come home,” Ste babbles, pushing his face into Brendan’s shoulder as he breathes heavily, “I thought you just crashed here for the night.  I thought you were just drunk and tired or something, not _this_.  Jesus Christ, Bren.”

Ste is panting.  Anyone would be, after that.  Brendan’s lungs are burning with it.

“The other three are still alive,” he says.

“Leave it, Brendan,” Ste begs.

“They’ll talk–”

“They _won’t_ ,” Ste insists.  “I know them.  They’ll be too scared.  Just leave it be.”

Brendan stands up, ready to cave in three more skulls, but Ste’s hand circling his wrist stops him.  Those blue eyes, darkened by the low light of the basement, plead with Brendan.   _Don’t you fucking dare_ , they say, and Brendan can’t deny them any longer.

He ignores the men on the floor in favor of sinking against one of the walls to look at the colossal mess they’ve made.  Something is going to have to be done about this.  Every inch of the cellar will need to be scrubbed down, and soon. Ste gets up after a while, moving to stand silently by Brendan’s side.  His breathing has leveled and his face looks much too calm.

“Believe me yet?” Brendan asks.

“What?”

“That I’m a bad man,” he clarifies.  “That I’m a monster.”

His split knuckles ache as he clenches his fist.  Blood – there’s so much blood, slipping down his forearms and drying on his face and squelching between his fingers.  He must be hideous with it.  But it was worth it, to do this.  Revenge for Vinnie and Ste all at the same time.  When you look at it like that, he’s practically won the lottery at the cost of his humanity.

Or maybe not.  Maybe this has been a long time coming, brewing under his skin since his soul was tampered with as a child.  Maybe Brendan Brady really is a killer, a monster, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts to the sound of joints popping.  Ste’s knees crack loud in the stillness of the cellar as he kneels next to Brendan.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

“You have a reason to be,” Brendan says.  “He hurt you.  He used you like a piece of meat.”

Ste leans heavily against Brendan’s side.  “Have you ever done that before?”

“Killed a man?” Brendan asks, and Ste nods.  “No.”

The truth.

“I’ve seen it done before,” Ste says.  They both sound so fucking _calm_.  “Danny did it.  Killed a whore like me for trying to turn him into the police.”

Brendan can’t tell if Ste is trying to cheer him up or trying to draw even more connections between him and Danny.  He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t want to know.

“I never been more scared in my life than that,” Ste admits.  “They did all sorts to me, but watching that…”

“It’s not something you should’ve had to see,”  Brendan says, “And neither was this.”

Ste grabs Brendan’s face, Brendan’s ugly bloody face, and gently turns it toward him.  “I’m not scared now, though.  I feel safer than I have for a long time.”

Brendan stares at him.  “I just caved your ex-boss’s head in with a tire iron.”

“He was a prick anyway,” Ste says, shrugging flippantly.

And then everything sort of clicks together in one simple paradigm shift: Ste isn’t going to run off in terror any time soon.  The hands on Brendan’s face are warm, one thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheekbone.  Ste understands that Brendan just _killed_ a man, and he’s okay with it.

They’re both okay with it, and that’s really messed up.

“I’m a murderer,” Brendan states, just in case Ste missed that somehow.

“And I’m an accessory to murder,” Ste says.  “Or something like that.  Point is, we’re in this together, you and me.”

Christ, they’re not Bonnie and Clyde now, are they?

“No, Steven–” Brendan starts to argue, but Ste cuts him off with a kiss.  It’s hard and almost aggressive, like all the residual adrenaline from the fight and subsequent _murder_ is coursing between their bodies.

Brendan’s dick gives an inappropriate throb, and he has to back away.

“Jesus,” he breathes.  “You kiss like a whore, Steven.”

“Really?” Ste grins, actually _grins_.  “Funny, that.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” Brendan starts to back away, but Ste tugs him close again by the back of the neck.

His blood-slick hands slip on Ste’s neck as they try desperately to cradle his face, his gorgeous young _innocent_ face.  Brendan is marking him up, dirtying him with blood, and Ste doesn’t even seem to notice.  Their mouths mesh and their tongues brush and nothing has ever made more sense in Brendan’s backwards head than this.

Part of Brendan can’t help but think he’s ruined this boy.  But even farther in his mind, in the darkest recesses of his thoughts, he thinks red is a good color on Ste.

Red’s a good color on both of them.

When Ste pulls back, there’s handprint smudges decorating his face like stage makeup.  His mouth is almost as red and wet as the sticky blood contouring his cheekbones.  

“We have to do something about this,” Brendan pants, resting his forehead against Ste’s.  “We gotta be quick about it, too.”

Ste nods.  “Whatever you need me to do, Brendan, I’ll do it.”

This is what _together_ means to them.  You bring the body, and I’ll bring the shovel.

Ste’s not going to be digging any holes, though.  Brendan talks him through something he planned out a long time ago in the event that something like this happened.  It’s mostly for the sake of covering their tracks.  He reluctantly puts everything on Ste’s shoulders.  It’s up to Ste to go through with all the contingency plans he’d prepared.

The likelihood that the police will think to go after Brendan is decently low, considering he pulled out of that game when Ste got admitted back into rehab.  Danny has plenty of enemies, known both by the criminal underbelly of this area and by the police.  The lack of activity on Brendan’s part might just save their asses.

“Alright, I got it,” Ste says after they discuss cleaning the cellar. “But what about Danny?”

“I’m gonna get rid of his body,” he says, “And then I’m going to Dublin.  I have connections there – a flat and a few businesses I can take care of.  I’ll lay low for a while.”

Ste shakes his head.  “Not without me you’re not.”

Brendan shushes him, trying to push him away.  “I need you here if this is going to work out.  Keep your head down, take care of things while I’m gone, spend time with your kids.  We can’t both go skipping off into the sunset together without drawing attention.”

“But I’ll come find you,” Ste insists.  “I promise I will.”

“Have you been paying attention to the last year of your life?  I’m no good for you, Steven.  Just let this be an end to things.”

He doesn’t mean it.  If Brendan Brady were an honest man, he’d be down on his knees begging Ste to come with him.  But he isn’t, so he doesn’t.  He tries to walk back over to Danny’s body, but Ste wretches his arm back and gets in his face.  “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do!”

“I’m only looking out for what’s best for you,” Brendan says.

“Oh, fuck _off_ ,” Ste huffs.  “You can’t let me live through something like that and then disappear on me!”

As if on cue, one of the unconscious men groans.  The sound rings out abnormally loud in the cellar.

“Steven, can we discuss this later?  We have work to do.”

Ste looks like he’s going to argue again, like they’ve only just gotten started here.  Brendan has no illusions about their situation.  The both of them are covered in the blood of a dead man, and the clock is ticking.  Ste looks so badly like he wants to keep arguing until his lungs are spent, but he just grunts out _fine_ and sets to work.  

As Ste runs upstairs to find some cleaner to get the blood out, Brendan walks over to the man who is blinking his way back into consciousness.

“Wake up, sunshine,” he grunts, “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

-

Brendan doesn’t leave until two days after Danny’s body is taken care of and their mess is all cleaned up, which takes about a week.  He stays in the flat, tries to make his decision to head off to Ireland seem like a natural move instead of a sudden flight.  His excuse is that he has to take care of the businesses he has up in Dublin, which Cheryl and Lynsey accept easily enough, though they don’t seem happy about it.

The night before he leaves, Ste makes him take work off.  That means Cheryl has to be at the club all night, and Lynsey is pulling the graveyard shift again.  They don’t waste a second.

Brendan keeps expecting Ste to be suddenly taken with the realization of what they’ve done.  He waits for Ste to collapse in on himself in a supernova of grief and guilt that scatters Brendan’s molecules across the village like Danny’s blood spattering their bodies.  But that never happens.

The minute Cheryl leaves for the club, Ste is on him, dragging him upstairs and peeling away his clothing.  They’re not big on foreplay and tenderness tonight, opting instead for the desperate sort of fucking that leaves both of them sore and satisfied.

Ste does most of the work at first, riding him hard with fingernails digging crescents into the slope of Brendan’s shoulders that will undoubtedly sting tomorrow when Brendan slings his bag over his shoulder.  That’s probably his intention, dirty little bastard.

Brendan lets him get his way until he’s on the verge of orgasm, mouth gaping and eyes fluttering closed.  Then Brendan flips them, manhandling Ste onto his back, and fucks him hard enough that he’s sure Ste will be feeling it for a while.  Ste retaliates with fingernails again, a recent favorite, dragging them down Brendan’s back with the intent to dig crisscrossing clawmarks all across Brendan’s shoulders.

Ste comes with his eyes closed and his teeth bared, like an animal.  A split-second moment of madness has Brendan imagining blood in his teeth, painting his lips even deeper red and dripping down his chin.  It’s in that moment that Brendan finally understands that Ste is like him.  Not an angel to be venerated nor a devil to be condemned.  

It’s the moment that Brendan accepts that Ste is capable of murder and love at the same time.  If that’s the case, then Brendan accepts that he is as well.  

By the time they’re finished, the fitted sheet has come undone and crumpled at the foot of the bed, the pillows and duvet have found a safer home on the floor, and Brendan is fairly certain he can taste blood.  Ste isn’t bothered by any of this.  He curls up in the center of the bed like a cat and grins in a way that nobody should just days after watching a man die.

Brendan joins him, drawing him close enough to kiss his messy hair.

“Do you think,” Ste starts, “If I weren’t an addict, would we have met?”

“Probably eventually,” Brendan says, dragging his nails along Ste’s warm skin.

“It’s messed up, right,” Ste says, “But in a way, I’m glad we met like we did.  Now, no offense, but I think that me before the drugs would have gotten eaten alive.”  
  
“Who’s to say that you won’t be now?” Brendan teases, scraping his teeth along Ste’s jaw.

“Please,” Ste huffs out a laugh, “I’m too much for you to handle, and everyone knows it.”

“Little ball of fire,” Brendan teases, feeling disgustingly sentimental.  The thought of losing your life will do that to a guy.  “Don’t you let anyone tell you you’re anything less.”

“Ta,” Ste grins, and leans up to kiss Brendan.  They savor every point of contact, because tomorrow is uncertain.  This might be the last chance they get to spend together in each other’s arms for a long time.

 

-

 

Three months later in a sparsely furnished but nevertheless comfortable nightclub office in North Dublin, Brendan Brady picks up a newspaper.

 _A presumed mister Daniel Houston found dead_ , oh boo hoo.  Signs point to homicide, but there is insufficient evidence to pursue an investigation on account of his body wasting away in a river for nearly ninety days.

Boo

fucking

hoo.

Not a single peep out of the other three men.  They’ve kept quiet, and Brendan didn’t even have to pay them off.  Ste was right, it would seem.

Speaking of… Brendan picks plucks a letter tucked away in a rumpled envelope, not scrawled on stationary but on a postcard.  Today is the day, finally.  He’s done enough waiting.

“Anne!” Brendan calls, and then calls louder when she doesn’t show up.  Eventually she strides into his office with a sour look about her.

“Would it kill you to call me Mitzeee?”

“Probably yes, actually,” he licks the envelope with a sense of finality and hands it to her. “Mail this for me, will you?”

She scoffs. “Do I look like a bleeding secretary to you?”

“You live next to the post,” he says.  “Come on, be a mate.”

“How about you walk me home like a proper gentleman and mail it yourself?”

Brendan sighs and grabs his coat.  “Fine.”

“Don’t get grumpy with me, mister,” she says, cocking one hip. “If you can’t even mail the letter yourself, how do you expect to handle meeting this man of yours face to face?”

Anne knows all about his… Inclination.  She found out not too long after they became business partners, the nosey little thing she is.  She was delighted much in the way Lynsey had been when she teased Brendan about the _boyfriend_ thing.

“Fair enough,” he grumbles, offering his arm.  She wraps herself around it with theatrical flair as they head out of the club, far away from the dismal memory of Hollyoaks.  He fiddles with the dogeared corner of the envelope that he’s been waiting to mail for weeks.

It’s a simple postcard.  A picture of the Liffey Bridge on one side and a small note on the other: _Steven, It’s been months now and you still haven’t found me.  I’ll make it easy for you.  Show up at the address below on any old saturday night, if you’re still looking for me.  P.S. bring my leather jacket with you, feckin thief._

No signature, no indication that it’s from Brendan at all, but Ste will know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO DRAMATIC LMAO but like. I couldn't not murder Danny.
> 
> Anyway, one more chapter left. Thanks for sticking around this long!


	12. Chapter 12

Another month passes without a single glimpse of Ste.  Brendan has the bar workers keeping an eye out for him, and Anne has taken to hanging around the club every single saturday night like it’s her duty to be the first to find him.

But when Ste never shows up, Brendan’s spirits start to sink.

“Oh, cheer up,” Anne says, plucking Brendan’s third whiskey of the night out of his hands.

“Gimme that back,” Brendan flails after her, but she’s not having any of it.

“Your Steven will show up in due time,” she huffs.  “Post probably hasn’t even reached him yet.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, not the twelfth,” Brendan grumbles.  “Ain’t like they delivered it on horseback between three couriers or something.”

“Maybe he’s just having trouble working up the nerve,” Anne says.  “Took _you_ long enough to mail the letter.”

“That was different,” Brendan insists, but it really wasn’t.

Anne keeps him from drinking himself stupid, though.  He doesn’t know how she does it.  The stubbornness and fortitude of that woman would have destroyed Brendan a long time ago if he hadn't yet yield to it.

And then, on the fifth saturday after mailing the letter, it happens.  Anne comes bouncing up the stairs into the office situated on the top floor of the new club.  Brendan can hear her clicking her way to him before he sees her, and the urgency in her stride has his attention instantly.

“Brendan!” she squeals, “Your twink is here!”

Brendan doesn’t even bother to react to that word, _twink_.  “You’re sure it’s him?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” she says, “He’d be the one asking everyone if they know where _Brendun Bradeh_ is, wouldn’t he?  Absolutely _gorgeous,_ if I might say.  Hideous jacket, though.”

Brendan stopped listening after the poor impression of a mancunian accent.  He’s on his feet and striding out of the office before she even finishes talking.  Ste is here, in the same building as Brendan, breathing the same air.  Every second he’s out of Brendan’s sight is a second wasted.

It’s hot as hell downstairs, where gyrating bodies dance under pulsing lights like seaweed tangling around Brendan’s legs.  He won’t let a bunch of clubbers get in his way, not tonight.  God knows where Ste has pissed off to.  This is new territory for him, he’s probably exploring like a curious child.

And then Brendan sees the back somebody who doesn’t fit the general aesthetic of tight minidresses and half unbuttoned shirts.  It’s a man with short wild hair in an ill-fitting leather jacket adorned with a fur collar that changes tint with the flashing of the colored lights.

Brendan resents Anne calling it ugly, but that’s not important at the moment.

They’re close now, still engulfed in countless anonymous bodies, but Brendan is still to far away to feel the heat unique to Ste.  Brendan follows him at a small distance as he meanders through the club, until they’re on the outskirts of the crowd.

Brendan goes in for the kill when Ste comes to a halt and looks around, managing to briefly sweep his desperate eyes over Brendan’s face without recognition kicking in.  In his defense, it’s dark in here, and everyone is changing with the lights.

Moving to stand right behind Ste, Brendan leans in close and mutters in his ear, “You lost?”

Ste tenses at the sound and then whips around to seek out that voice.  Once they’re practically nose to nose, Ste’s eyes widen in awe.  “What’s that on your face?”

“What?” Brendan asks.  Not the greeting he was expecting.  But then he realizes that there’s a beard where Ste was expecting a tashe.

Ste reaches forward like they haven’t been apart for months, like one of their last major interactions didn’t involve _literal murder_.  His fingers are soft as he strokes down Brendan’s face, dragging his blunt nails through the short hairs along Brendan’s jawline.

“That’s new, that,” Ste says, grinning tentatively as he revels in the unfamiliar texture.

“Well hello to you, too,” Brendan grumbles.

Ste just grins wider with mild fascination.  “Bit prettier than the tashe, innit.”

“The tashe is _signature_ ,” Brendan scoffs.  “The tashe is a work of art.”

“Yeah,” Ste grins, tongue between his teeth, as he scrapes his fingernails down Brendan’s bearded cheeks.  “I think I could get well used to this, though.”

And then, Brendan has to confront the sudden invasion of Ste’s tongue in his mouth.  There was a plan in place ten minutes ago.  Find Ste, get Ste upstairs into the office, talk to Ste, make sure Ste is okay, fuck Ste over the desk, in that order.  Ste himself seems to be in favor of skipping to the very end.  And as for Brendan, well, his willpower is never something to be commended when Ste gets like this.

There are people _everywhere_ , the room suffocatingly thick with bodies.  None of them probably know that the boss of this establishment is standing in the middle of the pulsing crowd with his hands pawing at that old leather jacket.  They don’t know how important this is, and for once Brendan wants to scream it from the rooftops until everyone understands: Nothing will keep them apart now.

Eventually, Ste pulls back and blinks a little dazedly in the flashing lights.

“This is not how I intended this to go at all,” Brendan admits.

“Had this all planned out, did you?” Ste teases.  “I can see it now, you standing in front of a mirror going _oh, Steven, love of my life, I missed you so much, let me suck your dick–_ ”

Little shit.  Brendan shuts him up with another kiss, searing and quick.

“Why don’t we take this to your office?” Ste asks when they pull back, breathing hard.  “You _do_ have an office, right?”

“I most certainly do,” Brendan says, and turns to snap his fingers at the girl working behind the bar.  “Ash!  Tell Anne to hold down the fort, will you.  Gonna be occupied for a little while.”

He doesn’t wait around for her response before grabbing Ste’s hand and dragging him through the crowd to the stairwell.  Ste stumbles along beside him, clinging to his arm and laughing like they’re sharing an inside joke.

This office isn’t much different from the office in Chez Chez, except it’s larger and more isolated, being the only other room on the sparse top floor aside from an employee bathroom. The desk isn’t glass in this one, it’s a thick sturdy wood that looks antiquated and out of place among the modernity of the architecture.

There’s also one major difference, Brendan’s favorite new installation:  Booze, lots of booze.  It’s separate from the stock they sell to the punters, and much more expensive.  Brendan makes a beeline for it, asking Ste if he’d like any.

To his surprise, Ste asks for whiskey.

“Nice place, this,” he gestures around the room as he takes the offered whiskey.  “Bit more swank than Chez Chez, innit.”

“Someone owed me a favor,” Brendan says as way of explanation.  He doesn’t explain that he collected said favor by means of what can only be described as a mild hostile takeover with the help of Anne, who already owned half the club.  Ste doesn’t need to know all that just yet, though.

“Tell me straight,” Ste says, all business, “Are you still into some dodgy dealings?”

Brendan considers lying, but Ste would find out eventually.  “Yes.  But not drugs.  Hand over heart, most of what I do here is legitimate business.  Chez would be proud of me.”

“Oh yeah, your Cheryl is flaming mad at you, by the way,” Ste says, eyeing Brendan over the rim of his glass.  “After running off like that.  Lynsey too, but she’s better at keeping it to herself.  They thought you were running away from us, they did.”

Well, they’re not entirely wrong, and that makes Brendan nervous.  “They don’t… Know anything, do they?”

“Don’t think so,” Ste says.  “I wasn’t in a hurry to tell them.”

“And you’re okay with this,” Brendan gestures around the office.  “All of this?”

“Well,” Ste puts his glass down on the desk and saunters into Brendan’s space, “Not really.  I’m still mad at you, too.”

Brendan can tell he’s anything but.  Or maybe he is, but he’s definitely the minxy kind of angry where both of them know they’re going to get what they want.  When Ste’s fingers curl in the lapels of Brendan’s jacket, he decides to play along.

“How can I make it up to you, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ste tries not to smile as he runs his hands up under Brendan’s jacket and pushes it off and onto the floor.  That’s a nice jacket he's abusing, but Brendan doesn’t even blink.  “Gonna take more than a quick shag over your desk.”

Brendan has Ste backed up against said desk in record time.

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Ste asks, breathless laughter in his voice.

“All I heard was, _I want a quick shag over the desk,_ ” Brendan shoves that leather jacket off, _finally_ , and lifts Ste up to sit him on the surface.  “And that, I can oblige.”

Ste lets Brendan shove him down so he’s lying across the desk.  His t-shirt, which looks an awful lot like one of Brendan’s old ones, is hastily pushed up so Brendan can kiss his way down that skinny chest, already flushed pink.  Brendan’s mouth meets the top of Ste’s trousers, and those come off unceremoniously, leaving Ste in his boxers and a faded t-shirt pushed up above his nipples.

Ste yanks Brendan down by his collar, kissing him messily while fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.  Soon, that joins the jacket on the floor and Ste’s insistent fingers explore Brendan’s chest like it’s the first time all over again.  Brendan takes advantage of Ste’s distracted state to yank his boxers off.

“Hold on,” Brendan mumbles, and leans past Ste to throw open a desk drawer and root around.  He digs out the lube and condoms and dumps them on the desk.

“Oi!” Ste gapes, “Who have you been fucking in here?”

“Nobody, _Jesus_ ,” Brendan uncaps the lube and squirts some into his hand.  “I was waiting for you.”

“You promise?” Ste asks, but he’s grinning under the idea that Brendan put off sex for three entire months for him.

“Absolutely,” Brendan leans down to grant Ste a reassuring kiss, and Ste’s hands immediately move to stroke Brendan’s bearded cheeks.  Ste gasps when Brendan slides a finger in, like he wasn’t expecting it or just isn’t used to it after all the time they’ve been apart.  Brendan gets him reaccustomed to it, though, pumping in and out slowly at first before pushing another finger in and spreading him wide.

Once Ste is writhing and begging and flushed pink from his cheeks to his chest, Brendan decides he’s had enough.  Pulling his wet fingers from Ste’s hole, Brendan goes to work on his trousers, fighting with them the whole way off since he’s not keen on losing yet another pair to Ste’s sexual appetite.  He has enough stained trousers for a lifetime, thanks.

They both hiss when Brendan pushes in.  Then it’s just a moment of adjustment, Ste’s body settling into that familiar throb, and Brendan is rocking into him at a steadily growing pace.  Ste loses the power of speech pretty quickly, opting for open-mouthed groans that echo around the cold office that grows more familiar with every second Ste spends in it.

Brendan can feel a soreness blooming in his mid-thighs from where they collide with the desk on every thrust in, but that won’t stop him.  Not when Ste is rising up onto his elbows and crossing his ankles behind Brendan’s back like he wants to chain them together.

When Brendan starts to feel close to coming, he pitches forward and grabs the opposite rim of the desk.  The other hand wraps around Ste’s cock and jerks hard and fast.  Ste collapses back onto the desk and throws a hand out to hold onto the edge, managing to knock his glass of whiskey to the floor.

Neither of them acknowledge the shattering of glass across the tiles, their first casualty in Dublin.

Brendan practically nuzzles Ste’s face once Ste starts making those throaty groans that mean he’s close.  As he comes, Brendan bites at his lower lip and refuses to relent the pressure of his hand or the insistent snapping of his hips.  Then it’s only minutes before Brendan is stuffing his face in Ste’s neck and coming hard into Ste’s pliant and spent body, thanking the Lord that this man found his way here.

But when Brendan pulls back to look at him, Ste is crying.  Not sobbing or anything, just blinking a few tears from his thick eyelashes.  Brendan thumbs some of the wetness away and tries not to think about the blood that was there just a few months ago.

“Wasn’t that bad, was I?” he asks, trying to diffuse the awkward tension.

“Stupid,” Ste sniffles, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve.  “I spent so much time waiting for you that I thought you gave up.  I was right miffed when I got the card, though.  Thought I’d give you a taste of your own medicine and make you wait.   _Stupid_.”

“You’re not stupid,” Brendan says, thumbing away Ste’s tears.  “Took me forever to send it, because I figured you wouldn’t want to see me after… What we did.”

Ste smiles.  He always smiles in situations that nobody should.  “Now you look like the idiot.  I was waiting for you, weren’t I?  I told you I’d come and find you.”

Now they’re both grinning in a way that is heavy with a strange sense of self-conscious guilt.  “Well, you found me.  Now what are you going to do with me?”

“Depends,” Ste runs his fingers through the sweat-dampened hair on Brendan’s chest.  “When do you think you’ll be getting home tonight?”

“I can leave right now, if you want.”

Ste rolls his still red-tinged eyes.  “Don’t be daft, this place is packed.”

“Anne can take care of things for the rest of the night,” Brendan says, reluctantly pulling back to bin the condom and look for his clothes.

“Who’s Anne?” Ste asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the name.

“Down boy,” Brendan laughs.  “She’s a business partner, owns half the club.”

“And you trust her?”

“For the most part,” Brendan chucks Ste’s boxers at him as Ste pulls his t-shirt back down.  “The bloke who used to own my half was giving her some problems, so I helped him get lost.  She’s been grateful enough that I doubt she’ll be stabbing me in the back any time soon.”

“You helped him get lost, did you?” Ste asks, accusatory tone poisoning his words.

“I didn’t _kill_ him, Steven, Christ,” Brendan huffs.  

“Well, I mean…” Ste trails off, looking guilty.  “You have, before.”

Something sick churns inside of Brendan knowing that Ste thinks him capable of casual murder.  It’s hard to blame him, though, after he watched Brendan spatter Danny’s brains all over the Chez Chez cellar.

“Steven, I–” Brendan stutters, stuck on the words that refuse to come out.  “It wasn’t easy for me to do that.  And I know it wasn’t easy to watch, but–”

“Forget it,” Ste says, yanking his boxers on.  “Forget I said anything, really.”

“No, Steven this is important,” Brendan cradles Ste’s face in his hands.  “I ain’t gonna say I’m sorry, because I’m not.  But I had to do that.   _We_ had to.  You know that.”

“I _told you_ to just go to the police,” Ste says, voice brittle.  “It didn’t have to happen like this.”

And then he’s crying again, those soft warm tears that drip from the tip of his nose.  Brendan doesn’t know what to say, so he drags Ste into a hug and lets him sniffle against his chest.  They stay close, one of Brendan’s large hands holding the back of Ste’s head keeping them together.  Brendan is prepared to wait it out for as long as he has to.

When Ste pulls away, he runs the back of his hands over his wet eyes.  He always looks so self-conscious and ashamed when he does that, and Brendan hates it.  He draws Ste into a kiss to distract him, and Ste takes it as an invitation to get dirty again.  A press of lips becomes open-mouthed and deep as their hands begin to wander.

That’s how Anne finds them when she bursts into the office.

“Brendan, I need–” she freezes, just as they pull apart.  “Oh my _God_!”

“New rule,” Brendan huffs, “If that door is closed, you knock.”

“Hi,” Ste waves awkwardly.

“Oh!” she squeals, clapping at the sight of them.  “Dirty boys!  You _didn’t_!”

“Uh, Anne,” Brendan pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Give us a minute, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she flashes them a thumbs up.  “Take all the time you need.”

She scurries out after that, leaving the two of them standing in silence.  Ste clears his throat. “Well she’s…”

“Insufferable?”

“Was gonna say fit, actually,” Ste grins.

Brendan grabs two handfuls of his arse and drags him close.  “You _sure_ you wanna say that, Steven?”

Ste’s eyes fall closed as he bites his lip.  “If it gets you acting like this, then yeah.”

“Cheeky,” Brendan growls, giving Ste a playful smack on the arse.

“You love me,” Ste teases, grinning wide.

“Yeah, I–” Brendan starts, but the words halt at the back of his tongue.  He realizes it now, he’s never said _that_ to Ste.  He’s thought it, _God_ he’s thought it, but even that alone was daunting.

“You what?” Ste asks, challenging Brendan.  “Say it.”

Brendan hesitates.  “You already know.”

“I want to hear it,” Ste isn’t going to back down.  “Brendan, _please_.”

Brendan looks into Ste’s eyes and hears Seamus’s voice calling out to him, calling him soft, a pansy, a little girl.  Love is weakness, Brendan has known that all his life.  Love turned him into someone he never thought he’d be, love turned him into a _murderer_.

Love has him clearing his throat and murmuring those three words he’s been running from all his life: “I love you.”

But it doesn’t feel like enough.

“I love you, Steven.”

Ste’s face blossoms into a grin, and he pulls Brendan down into a sturdy and solid kiss.

-

In the morning there are two missed calls and a text from Anne that reads: _stop shaggin that twink of urs for 2 seconds and answer ur phone!!!!  got a situation xx._ Brendan leans over to the bedside table to shoot of a text that says, _That twink has a name. Steven._

Said twink chooses that moment to roll across the crumpled white sheets and fling himself over Brendan’s shoulder.  He yawns in Brendan’s ear and then apologizes with a dusting of kisses on the side of Brendan’s neck.

“Gotta get up soon and check on Anne,” Brendan grumbles.  “She says there’s a _situation_ , whatever that means.”

“No,” Ste pouts and drags Brendan back to lie in bed.  There are slats of orange morning light peeking through the venetian blinds that paint lines across Ste’s body, making him look even warmer than usual.  Brendan wants to curl up in his arms and stay in bed for the whole day, damn the rest of the world.

“You look good in orange,” Brendan says.  “You look good in anything.  Or out of anything.”

Ste huffs out a quiet laugh.  “What’s got you all soppy?”

“Been sleeping alone for months, thinking you hate me,” Brendan says.  “This is…  More than I expected.”

“Told you, you idiot,” Ste grins.  “We’re in this together, you and me.”

And then Ste is kissing him, softly but with that hint of filthiness that he commands so well.  He moves from Brendan’s mouth to his jaw, kissing his beard like he’s in love with it.

“Don’t shave, okay?” Ste murmurs, running his lips across the hair dusting Brendan’s chin.  “Maybe later, but not for a while.  Quite like this, I do.”

“Suppose I can hold off for a while,” Brendan says, tangling his hands in Ste’s hair as Ste moves down the column of his throat.  Just then, Brendan’s phone starts screaming, and he begrudgingly gropes around for it.

“Fuck,” Brendan huffs.  “It’s Anne, I gotta–”

“Answer it,” Ste says, making no move to cease his assault.

Brendan does.  “Yeah, what do you need?”

Predictably, Anne immediately starts probing about the gory details of Brendan and Ste’s night.  Brendan tries to throw her off, but she’s persistent.  The entire time, Ste’s lips move lower, following the coarse hair of Brendan’s torso all the way down until –

Oh, Steven Hay, you _filthy_ little bastard.

Brendan has to bite his tongue to keep from groaning into the receiver when Ste goes down on him.  Anne finally moves on to the problem she was worried about, and Brendan struggles to concentrate on her voice.  She prattles on and on, could probably outtalk Ste if his mouth wasn’t busy milking Brendan’s cock for every twitch.

It feels like an eternity before she hangs up, and Brendan comes down Ste’s throat with a loud groan as soon as the call cuts short.

They both need a shower after that.

Brendan spends the rest of the day running errands and trying to help Anne sort things out while Ste makes friends with Brendan’s new staff and explores Dublin.  It only takes him a few days to take notice of one particular peculiarity.  He points it out on the way to the club one day, just as they approach the building.

“So what’s with that empty business below the club?” Ste asks, pointing to the dark windows of the first floor of the club.

“The whole building used to be a restaurant, with the seating on the second floor and the kitchens downstairs,” Brendan explains.  “We only own the top two floors, but nobody wants to rent the bottom out since it’s right below a nightclub.”

“It’s small,” Ste says thoughtfully.  “But not _too_ small.  Cozy.  Perfect for, I dunno…  A cafe.”

So that’s where he’s going with this.

“Got your eye on it, do you?”

“I was thinking, if you helped me rent it out–”

Brendan snorts out a laugh.  “What do I look like, your sugar daddy?”

Ste looks defeated for a moment, but his demeanor soon shifts to determined.  “No.  No, you’re right.  I gotta work for this myself.”

“I’m joking Steven, if you need the money–”

“No, I’m gonna work for this,” Ste says, gazing longingly at the empty building.  “I’ll get a job – a real one.  Get a loan or something.”

“Seriously?”

“Better than shifting crates for you forever,” Ste teases.  “And much better than getting it laying on my back.”

Brendan feels an overwhelming warmth in his chest that he identifies as pride later on that night.  It inspires him to crack open his laptop to make a quick google search and print something off to present to Ste at breakfast.

“Er, what’s this?” Ste scrutinizes the paper, managing to smear jam in the left margin.

“It’s a meeting list,” Brendan says, “For those Narcotics Anonymous things.  Found some times and locations nearby.”

Ste gives him a skeptical look.  “You want me to go to these things again?”

Brendan shrugs.  “Better than relapsing.”

“And you think they’ll help?”

“Worth a shot.”

Ste puts the paper back down on the table and crosses his arms.  “I don’t know if I can’t talk about myself like that again, alright, there’s just too much stuff I can’t tell to strangers.  What if I…  What if I say something about Danny?”

“Steven,” Brendan sighs, “Those strangers have all been through some screwed up life experiences as well.  Give it a shot.”

“Well,” Ste chomps more of his toast.  “If you say so.”

Brendan doesn’t say anything more to that, he just beckons Ste to lean close with a curled finger.  Ste follows the motion with a creased brow, and Brendan runs his tongue along Ste’s lower lip.

“Messy eater,” he rumbles, voice low.  “Got jam all over your mouth.”

“Yeah?” Ste asks a little hazily.  “You got it in your beard, too.”

Brendan knows he most certainly does not, but he lets Ste kiss his chin anyway.  It doesn’t take much more provocation for Brendan to drag a cackling Ste into his lap and suck red marks into his neck.  Ste picks up the toast and feeds it to Brendan, getting crumbs absolutely _everywhere_.  Soon they’re licking each other’s fingers clean with the sort of mocking seduction that no sane human being would call sexy, but here they are.

When they’re like this, it’s easy to forget all of the horrible things they’ve left behind.  Sometimes, though, it’s less than easy.  Because sometimes, Ste remembers too much.  Sometimes, he has nightmares.

They aren’t the violent sort of arms thrashing, legs kicking nightmares.  Brendan only catches the first one because he drags himself out of bed in the middle of the night to take a piss and comes back to find Ste grasping the pillow with a tight look of discomfort on his face.  He groans quietly in the back of his throat, almost too quiet to hear, and Brendan decides to shake him awake.

It’s after Ste opens his eyes that he starts to thrash.  He throws out an arm that catches Brendan’s cheekbone, and Brendan practically has to wrestle him to tranquility.  All the while he babbles, _it’s me Steven, you’re okay, I’ve got you, nothing’s gonna happen_.  Ste eventually calms, curling in on himself and dragging Brendan close behind him as he breathes raggedly.

“Shhh,” Brendan breathes warm air across Ste’s ear as he shakes with him.  “Only a nightmare.”

“It isn’t,” Ste whimpers.  “Because it really happened.  We _did_ that.”

Brendan tightens his hold.  “If we didn’t we’d be dead.  Or I’d be dead and you’d be… You know.”

“I’d be strung out and getting fucked by blokes who don’t even know my name,” Ste says plainly.

“I don’t like to think about all those men putting their hands on you,” Brendan admits, dragging Ste closer.

Ste grasps Brendan’s hands where they rest around his middle.  “Neither do I.”

They drift into a wakeful sort of silence.  Ste drags his fingernails up and down Brendan’s forearm in a motion so soothing that Brendan doesn’t want to fall asleep, he wants to stay up and feel it until the sunrise peeks through the blinds.  He returns the motion father down as his toes drag ticklish lines through the thick hair of Ste’s legs.

It almost seems like they’re finally going to drift back off to sleep when Ste arches back against Brendan with unmistakable want.  Brendan misinterprets it, though, and shifts away to give him more room.  Ste just pushes back more insistently, moving his hand away from its place on top of Brendan’s to reach for his own cock.

Brendan can’t believe it.  “Do you really want to do this after having a nightmare?”

“Come on,” Ste wiggles his arse, “Your dick’s got healing powers, I swear.”

Brendan caves easily, rolling Ste onto his stomach and giving him what he wants.  He fucks Ste hard into the mattress, draping his body over Ste’s and breathing raggedly into his ear all the while.  Ste arches and writhes and begs for more more more _more_.

After, when Brendan is panting hard and Ste is grinning into the pillow, the nightmare feels very far away.  The lights of the bedside clock stare holes into them, reminding them that they have to be awake in four short hours.  Brendan ignores it as he untangles from Ste and pads down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Predictably, Ste grabs for it when Brendan strides back into the bedroom.  Together, they drain it in no time, and Brendan briefly regrets not just getting Ste his own damn glass.

They fall back into bed together, breathing softly in each other’s space.  Brendan is sure this is it, they’re finally going to go to sleep, but then Ste pipes up. “I was thinking–”

“Oh, no.”

“Shut up,” Ste smacks Brendan’s arm.  “I was thinking, this flat’s got two bedrooms, innit?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So…” Ste rises up on his elbows so he can look down at Brendan.  “Maybe Leah and Lucas could come up every once in a while?  Amy’d lose her head if I tried to move them up here for good, but maybe they could visit some weekends or something.”

“You think they’d want to come all the way over here?”

“Course!” Ste says.  “They’d love it.  And our Leah, she misses you like mad.  Might cry when she sees you’ve traded the tashe for a beard, though.”

“Well, if you think she can survive that trauma,” Brendan says, “Then sure.  We’d have to set up the spare room, I think we’re using the only duvet–”

Ste shuts him up with a kiss, and then another when Brendan tries to speak again.  “We don’t deserve this,” he mutters against Brendan’s mouth.

“Why not?” Brendan asks.

Ste flops on the bed next to him.  “We’ve not exactly got the cleanest track records, do we?”

Brendan lets his eyes droop closed.  “The world’s full of bad people who don’t deserve happy endings.  Way I look at it, we’re doing a lot better than we were a year ago.”

“I just hope it don’t come round to bite us in the arse later,” Ste says, snuggling close to Brendan.

“Shhh,” Brendan hushes Ste.  “Don’t you worry about anything now.”

To that, Ste says nothing.  Brendan begins to drift, but Ste is still restless.  He readjusts his body over and over like there’s something he’s missing, something he has to do before his body succumbs to sleep.

“I think I’m gonna quit smoking,” he says after a while, toying with the hair on Brendan’s chest.

That makes Brendan swell with a strange overwhelming sense of gratitude.  “Good.”

“Cause you hate it, don’t you?  And it’s no good for me.”

“I ain’t gonna keep you away from cocaine just to lose you to cigarettes,” Brendan gripes, and Ste croons an _awww_ at him.

“You care so much.”

“Too much,” Brendan mutters.

“I mean, you stopped dealing for me,” Ste says.  “At least a little bit for me, right?”

“Well,” Brendan sighs.  “That and because Chez of threatening to disown me if I didn’t stop.”

“She brings out the best in you, she does.”

“Yeah,” Brendan says.  “Too bad she’s far far away in that damned village.”

“Looks like I’ll just have to step up,” Ste says.

“You already have.”  Brendan opens his eyes to see Ste’s own eyes looking back at him.  They glint in the light peeking in through the blinds, the brightest spots in this dark room.  Ste runs his hands down Brendan’s body, letting his fingertips come to rest against the inside of Brendan’s thigh.  

It’s not an arousing touch, it’s comforting. Ste brushes the warped scars courtesy of Seamus, the ugly gnarled skin that Brendan used to look at and think, _this is what I look like on the inside_.

“Hey, Bren?” Ste asks.  “Are we gonna be okay?”

Something about his tone has Brendan’s stomach tightening.  “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just, you know,” Ste mumbles.  “What with everything that’s happened this year…  Don’t seem like this is real, like I should be back in the village doing lines or something.”

Brendan draws Ste closer, perching his chin atop Ste’s head.  “We got this far, didn’t we?  I ain't letting anything drag us down now.”

Ste seems satisfied with that answer, since he says nothing in response.  He just wraps his arms around Brendan and snuggles in close.  There are still hurdles they’ll need to get over, skeletons pounding at the closet door.  Brendan isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to tell Ste everything about his past, about Vinnie and Seamus.  At the same time, he’s not sure Ste will ever tell him everything, either.

Maybe they don’t need to know everything.  They’ve seen each other at their best and their worst, and yet here they are.  For once, Brendan realizes he’s not terrified of letting someone make a home in his head.

-

When he wakes up in the morning to see Ste stretching in the gentle morning light, Brendan counts himself among the luckiest men alive.  Absently, he notes that Ste’s ribs only make an appearance when he stretches a certain way.  When Ste turns to glance at Brendan, he rubs his eyes and smiles so brightly that the insecurities of last night seem ridiculous.

Brendan fights against the haze of sleepiness to sit up and wrap his arms around Ste’s morning-chilled body.

“We’re sacking off today,” he announces.  “This flat needs a proper christening.”

“It’s already had, like, _four_ ,” Ste scoffs, but lets Brendan pull him back anyway.

“The bed’s had plenty,” Brendan kisses the back of Ste’s neck, “But the rest of the flat is missing out.”

“We can’t take a whole day off just to have sex,” Ste argues, but his voice lacks conviction as he leans heavily against Brendan.

“I”m the boss, I can do whatever I want.”

“Well in that case,” Ste grins as he pulls away, “I say we start with the shower.  A nice hot shower…”

Ste trails off, clearly more taken with the idea of showering than shagging, and Brendan laughs.  “I like the way you think.”

“Ta,” Ste says, and untangles himself from Brendan’s arms.

“Wait, Steven,” Brendan says, dragging Ste down into a quick kiss, “We’re gonna be just fine.”

Ste’s grin cuts through the hazy morning light.  “We can do anything together, us.”

“Anything at all,” Brendan agrees, and lets Ste tug him to his feet to face whatever life throws at them together, always together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG THIS ENDING IS SO CHEESY idk how y'all put up with me. That on top of the nine billion typos I've found in the previous chapters makes me so grateful for anyone who has gotten this far <3\. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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